


Say My Name and His in the Same Breath

by She5los



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (The kind of miscommunication that happens with Bernadetta), All the romance is really soft and sweet I promise, Also everyone's parents and relatives, And a bunch of side ships that are barely plot relevant, Arranged Marriage, Big clunky timeskips but I think the story still works really well, Child Abuse, F/M, Homophobic siblings, It's just that first there's an arranged marriage set up by the protagonists' parents, Jealous Hubert, M/M, Miscarriage/abortion, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Non-Con, Other, Slow Burn, So Many More Tags as this updates, Spymaster Bernadetta, The characters who die are minor but mourning them is a big deal, There are lots of tender and fluffy moments, This one's gonna be a monster to post I have no idea how to tag it, Touch-starved Hubert, homophobic parents, moderate character death, transphobic parents, warnings in relevant chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 250,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She5los/pseuds/She5los
Summary: Ferdinand and Bernadetta get married at seventeen, and while their marriage gets off to a troubled start, they eventually reach something like an equilibrium that they're both satisfied with.  After the War, though, as Hubert becomes a bigger part of their life and even becomes their lover, they realize how good their relationship can be.This story is currently on hiatus while I write down the ending.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Hubert von Vestra/Original Character(s)
Comments: 139
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1: The Engagement

Bernadetta was Aware of her father. She was aware of him when he was home, and now, when he was in the Capital, she was aware of his absence. It was a weight lifted from her shoulders. It was her bedroom door left ajar during the afternoon instead of kept closed as often as possible.

There was a system for his return home. A messenger would always be sent at least a day in advance so the household would be prepared for his return. So Bernadetta was horrified when she was trying to sketch a flower in front of the estate and Father’s carriage came into view.

She would have run inside, anyway, but in this case, she ran straight to the solar, where Mother had the windows open to enjoy the early Spring day and was also teaching Eleonora how to do the County’s accounts. She shouldn’t have bothered, though, because as she approached, she heard a maid say, “Definitely his carriage, Your Grace. I wouldn’t have thought it, either, but it couldn’t have been anyone else’s.” So Mother knew, and she was free to go to her room.

She cringed when she heard a knock on her door, but it was only Mother, saying, “Bernadetta? Your father has come home early. Come and greet him.”

There was nothing to do but answer her door. She couldn’t claim she was unwell because Mother knew she’d been active all morning. Instead, she rolled her shoulders, straightened her back, plastered an agreeable smile on her face, and answered the door. She silently followed Mother to the front of the house and lined up with her sisters to greet Father, looking down demurely as he stepped out of his carriage.

“What a delightful surprise to see you, Count Varley,” Mother said. Bernadetta felt the opposite way. She often wondered if Mother ever felt horrified by Father, or if she forced herself not to feel it, or if she saw nothing wrong with it.

“My lady,” Father said, and kissed Mother’s hand. They smiled at each other. Bernadetta didn’t look, but she did several times when she was young, before she was broken of the habit. “I have exciting news for the family. Our Bernadetta is to be married!”

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand had too much energy and nothing at all to spend it on. He had gone for a ride, but the streets of Enbarr were cramped. He had trained with his sword earlier, but his sparring partner had schooling after lunch. Presently, he found himself throwing a rubber ball against a wall and trying to figure out something to think about.

There was a small flurry of activity that meant, at the front of the house, Father was home. It was early in the day, but the Emperor’s Council adjourned early sometimes. Or maybe he had a meeting. Whatever the reason, Ferdinand was very nearly certain that his father had not come home with the solution to his restlessness.

He was entirely wrong.

“Ferdinand! Get in here, boy; I have excellent news!” Father called from the doorway. Ferdinand, ever obedient, caught the ball he had been playing with and carried it in when he went.

He smiled and said, “Welcome home, Father” as he approached the house.

“Yes, yes, good to see you, but you need to hear my news,” Father insisted. As soon as he was able, he put an arm around Ferdinand’s shoulders and led him toward the front of the house. Ferdie had hated him doing that ever since the Insurrection, but he did his best not to show it. “I want you to be sitting down; it is sure to surprise you.” Ferdinand walked with Father to the parlor, and when they were both seated, Father grinned at him and said, “I have found you a wife.”

The shock that raced through Ferdinand’s body on hearing the news was perhaps not the unparalleled joy his father had anticipated. He blinked several times, as if it was the light that had changed and not his status as a bachelor. “Well, are you going to tell me about her?” he asked, trying not to show the horror he was inexplicably feeling. It was only right for a young nobleman to obey his parent. It was only right for him to marry in good time. He just thought he would have a few more years, and perhaps a little more say in the matter.

“I told you about the eldest Varley girl last year,” his father said, which was… Okay, that maybe made Ferdinand’s horror a little less inexplicable. “A very accomplished young lady, and crested. She can draw, paint, sing, embroider, and she’s a fine equestrian, as well. Count Varley says the whole household knows her by her beautiful arts and her delicate manners. She will be a fine match for you.”

Father was all smiles, and Ferdinand did his best to seem pleased. Father had heard the rumors. Ferdinand had brought them to his attention himself: a girl who made images of her enemies and locked herself in her room all day. Either he had given up on Ferdinand’s marriage prospects or he had good reason to doubt the rumors. Considering that Ferdinand was only seventeen, and could barely even be called a bachelor, that must mean that Miss Varley had some sort of proof that she didn’t do such vile things. “I… suppose I should find an engagement gift,” Ferdinand said. “Do you know what her interests are? She loves the arts, but does she have any favorite subjects?”

"I neglected to ask," Father confessed. "You will just have to ask her yourself. I am so excited for you, Ferdinand; this will be a powerful alliance. Truly, a good match for both you and Miss Valley."

"Yes, excellent," Ferdinand agreed, but his heart said the opposite. He stood up. "And difficult information to take in so quickly. I must apologize, but I am quite overwhelmed. I will-- see you at dinner, Father." He nodded to Father and retreated out of the room. He did not know which direction to go, just fled and quickly found himself in his bedroom.

Bernadetta von Varley? What was Father thinking? Politically, they were well matched: two crested young adults of the same age, both set to inherit powerful titles and profitable holdings. Ferdinand was, perhaps, a step above Bernadetta in terms of the title he would one day inherit, but Varley produced unique luxury goods, weapons and armor that were unmatched anywhere else in the Empire.

Whatever he might have wished, Ferdinand had no actual reason to go against his father. He had made his position clear, and Father had ignored it, and he would have to assume that Father had insight and wisdom beyond what he had managed to cultivate in seventeen years. He would just have to hope it was for the best.

.-._.-._.-._

Three days after Father returned, a package arrived from Enbarr. It was wrapped in fine paper and sealed with the red umber wax and seal of House Aegir. In an abrupt hand, 'Miss Bernadetta von Varley' was written above the seal, but it had been sent by messenger regardless. The messenger was invited to stay the night, and accepted Varley Manor’s hospitality. Bernadetta, for her part, enjoyed the novelty of having a package delivered directly into her hands, instead of to a member of the household, who gave it to Father, who opened it, inspected it, and gave it to her. She immediately disappeared with it into her room, even locking her sisters out.

Inside the package was a wooden box. On top of the box was a letter, also addressed to her in plain text. Bernie felt the echo of what her betrothed was like from the energy of his hand.

_ Dear Miss Varley,  _ the letter read,  _ I hope this letter finds you well. I have recently been informed of our engagement and wanted to send you a token of my goodwill. My father has heard accounts of your artistry and your talents with many media. I wanted to send you a gift that would be useful and intriguing to you. Although Varley is famed for its metalwork, I have not heard of much glass coming from your land, so my gift also carries the hope that you will come to appreciate the many comforts and conveniences of the city. _

_ I know little of you as a person, and I am sure you feel as anxious to learn about me as I do to learn about you. My goal at the moment is to cultivate myself into an ideal nobleman: honest and forthright, caring and considerate, going about my daily business with honor and integrity. I hope you will find that I live up to the standards set by our honorable forebears. In preparation for a martial career before I inherit my father's title, I train daily with a sword or other weapon and read books on strategy and history. I have heard that you are an equestrian and I hope we are well matched in that regard. I enjoy riding fast through open terrain and sometimes find the closeness of the city stifling, but Enbarr's parks are beautiful and it is my hope that we can make memories riding through them together. _

_ I will await your letter. I fear I have written too much and too little at once. I have barely come out and already been matched, and I am certain you find yourself in the same position. Please write to me of your feelings on our engagement; I am filled with uncertainty that I am sure will be quelled by getting to know you. _

_ Yours, _

_ Ferdinand von Aegir _

All in all, it was an agreeable letter. Bernadetta could believe that Mister Aegir was so active; looking with fresh eyes, his hand seemed almost impatient, especially in the body of his letter, which had been written less carefully than Bernie's name.

He had promised a present from the city, so Bernie unlatched and opened the box. Inside, it was lined in dark purple fabric and held three oblong glass objects and a small card.

The card read, in perfectly passable calligraphy,  _ Mr. Alexander Cornel's Famous Glass Pens. _ Bernadetta had never heard of a glass pen, but looking at the objects again, she could see how they would be easy to hold. The tips looked almost like paintbrushes.

She was already in her room, so she figured the only thing to do with a new pen was to try it out. She pulled one out of the case, a clear one with a yellow spiral lattice running down the length of it and a translucent yellow tip. She grabbed a notebook, opened a bottle of ink, and dipped the pen in.

She lost track of time using the pens. She was called to dinner after what felt like minutes, but looking back, she had filled several pages with calligraphy and doodles. The glass scratched pleasantly over the paper like a metal nib and the ridges of the tip held a good reservoir of ink. If Bernadetta's distraction meant anything, the pens were a good gift. And, considering how little Mister Aegir seemed to know of her, a considerate gift. She would have to think of something adequately personal to send in return.

.-._.-._.-._

When the messenger returned to Aegir House, he came bearing a return gift from the eldest daughter of House Varley. Ferdinand tipped the man well for delivering the envelope straight into his hands.

Like his package had been, Miss Varley's envelope was sealed with the purple wax and distinctive seal of her house. Like his, the outside read 'Mister Ferdinand von Aegir' despite being hand-delivered, though Miss Varley had a very fine hand and Ferdinand knew he did not.

In the envelope was a letter and a piece of fabric. On unfolding, the fabric turned out to be a handkerchief with some sort of leafy design in one corner. Ferdinand smelled the letter, hoping it was scented like the one he had sent out, but it smelled only of paper.

_ Dear Mister Aegir, _ Miss Varley's letter read,  _ I was glad to receive your letter and your gift. Your personality shone through in your hand, your words, and your careful selection of an engagement present. I hope you will excuse the simplicity of my return gift, but it was all I could make on such short notice. I have been enjoying the pens you sent, and the calligraphy on the envelope was made with one of them. _

On reading this, Ferdinand picked the envelope back up and investigated the handwriting. It looked smooth and beautiful, and Miss Varley would only have mentioned it if she liked them, would she not?

_ In fact, I have been loathe to share these pens even with my sisters. They have quickly tired of watching me draw with them, but although you sent enough for all three of us, I have been holding onto all of the pens as a personal remembrance of you. _

_ It may sound blunt, but I have spent much of my life preparing to wed, so I have little to say regarding our engagement. I have always trusted that my parents would find me a match, and I will do my utmost to be a good wife to you. My parents talk of a wedding in the Fall, and I think they will meet with your father before a date is finalized. I hope that we will be able to meet, as well, but if we do not, I am comforted by your strong morals; I have always hoped that my husband would be kind. _

_ Regarding my gift, I hope you will keep it with you to think of me by. The embroidery is of a pitcher plant from Brigid, one of my favorites from our greenhouse. As you pointed out, I enjoy many arts, from calligraphy to painting to needlework, so I wanted to send something I made for you. I hope this will add a touch of personality that can be difficult to convey in a letter. _

_ I will happily accept your invitation to go riding. County Varley is large, but arid, and while I have a deep appreciation for the natural beauty of my father's holding, I know how many have expounded on the lush beauty of other climates. I look forward to seeing Enbarr's parks with you, and to viewing Enbarr's Fall color firsthand. _

_ Yours, _

_ Bernadetta von Varley _

Ferdinand smiled; it was a good letter, a complete letter. It sounded like Miss Varley had always expected an arranged marriage, so she actually had a leg up on him there, and she  _ did _ like horses, and-- and Ferdinand was simply dizzy with thinking about his engagement, and how normal his fiance seemed after the rumors he had heard.

He raced to the parlor, where books were kept on display as a show of House Aegir's wealth. He pulled down the appropriate encyclopedia and flipped through it: Pi… Pil… Pis… Finally, he found, "Pitcher Plant: A carnivorous plant found in tropical swamps. Its tube-shaped leaves hold a thick syrup that both attracts and digests bugs. Hairs on the inside of the plant point downward, making it easy for bugs to enter, but difficult for them to climb out. One of the most common types of carnivorous plant, there are many varieties. Other names include Jack-in-the-pulpit."

Ferdinand rested the book on his lap and looked again at the handkerchief. The embroidery did look like it could be the outside of the plant the encyclopedia depicted in cross-section. And had Miss Varley not written that hers was from Brigid? Brigid was warm and humid.

He had to consult her letter again. He was put very on edge by Miss Varley's gift. First, he checked a book on flower language to ensure that there was no subtle or unusual meaning, but it was not even listed. He replaced the books and returned to his room.

There were ten different meanings Ferdinand could draw, and only some of them implied Miss Varley held a favorable view of him. He chose to take the gift at face value for now, as one of Miss Varley's favorites that she had made into a token for him, but also to keep in mind that the plant was carnivorous.

.-._.-._.-._

A second letter arrived from Enbarr, bearing the House Aegir seal, but like a normal letter, it was delivered to Father first, even though he was preparing to leave for the City the next day.

_ My dear Miss Varley, _ it read, and Bernadetta noted the difference between "dear" and "my dear" and was glad that Father probably hadn't noticed.  _ I hope you will find that, although I am no great practitioner of the arts, I am certainly a great appreciator of them. I have begun keeping your handkerchief on my person at all times, in the breast pocket of my waistcoat, next to my heart, and I look forward to the day I can give you such a personal token. I wonder which arts you most enjoy? Enbarr has a great wealth of museums, theatres, and salons, and I shall waste no time introducing you to whatever circle you feel you would enjoy. In fact, a close friend of mine has just secured a season position at the Enbarr Royal Opera House, and I would be delighted for you to come with me and share in some beautiful music. _

_ The only art I can profess competence in is the art of preparing tea. I wonder if you share my appreciation? There is nothing finer, to me, than a well prepared cup of finely roasted or blended tea, and Enbarr has imports from all across the continent. I hope you will not find my fascination tiresome, as good food is one of the great joys of living, and good drink even moreso. _

_ Miss Varley, I hear your father will return to Enbarr soon. Will you be accompanying him? I am anxious to meet you and solidify my resolve to marry you. I am certain that, once I have seen you and talked with you, there will be no doubt left in my mind. I hope that, not long from now, I will be anxious to wed instead of anxious about our engagement. I suppose it is bad form to share these feelings with you, but I want you to know that I understand how natural uncertainty is when our commitments were made by our parents. I know that my worries have nothing to do with reality -- your writing is captivating and you have a very elegant hand, and your embroidery is vibrant and original -- but nevertheless, I feel this way. I also hope, for your sake, that meeting me will help to quell any uncertainty that you may have been too polite to admit to. No matter how well prepared you may have been to take a husband of your parents' choosing, I am sure the reality carries no small amount of uncertainty for you. _

_ If you will not be in Enbarr in the near future, would it be possible for me to visit you in Varley? I think even a few days would be helpful. _

_ Is there anything in particular you want from the City? You will be here soon, and of course what is mine will be yours, but I know little of County Varley except as a place on a map and the source of famously fine steel. I would be glad to send you another gift. It would help me imagine the kind of woman you are. _

_ Yours, _

_ Ferdinand von Aegir _

"What does the boy think he's doing?" Father fumed at dinner that night, as if her letters were public property to be discussed by the whole household. "Writing to you like that, like he wants to break off the engagement. Doesn't he have any respect for his father's decisions?"

"I don't think he meant it that way," Mother soothed. "Not when he was offering to show our Bernie off all around the City."

"Too polite to write about uncertainty," Father grumbled. "What does that make him, then, if he writes about it so frankly?"

Mother smiled down at her salad and said, "He's young yet. He sounds a very energetic young man; perhaps his words got away from him."

"Some future Prime Minister," Father spat. "Can't keep control of his own pen. It makes me wonder what Duke Aegir was thinking, offering him up so readily. Is there something wrong with him? Well, there must be, to ramble on about something so dangerous. Bernadetta, your letter  _ must _ include a response to that section."

Bernadetta nodded. She had thought Mister Aegir's tangent to be very kind. It excused any awkwardness between them at the start of their marriage. It made her anxiety (and she had so much anxiety) the result of frazzled nerves that simply didn't know yet how charming Mister Aegir was. She would make a good, obedient wife and he would be a good, faithful husband. They just hadn't met, that was all. Everything would be fine.

The letter she wrote, the third draft, which Father finally approved and which she pushed into his hands just moments before he was supposed to leave, read:

_ My dear Mr. Aegir, _

_ I was glad to receive your letter in such good time. When you get this, my father will be back in the Capital and we will be that much closer to having concrete news of our wedding. _

_ I confess, I do worry sometimes with the natural anxiety that comes from any large transition in a person's life. However, I have faith that my father has chosen well for me. Even if we are unable to see each other in person, I have gotten so much character from your letters that I am confident meeting you in person will not be a shock. _

_ I am very glad to hear that you have enjoyed my handkerchief. It is reassuring to think that, in your busy city life, you take the time to think of me. I have been practicing with your pens, and have enclosed some of my recent ink drawings. They are not only easy, but  _ _ pleasant _ _ to use, and they make me feel that such a considerate gift can only come from a considerate person. _

_ I must confess that I know little about tea. If the quality of the teas in Enbarr is as good as you say, then perhaps I will be motivated to learn the tea brewing arts. For myself, I have always enjoyed fruity blends, especially sweet ones. They go so well with cakes and other delicious desserts! I hope, when I arrive, you will be able to teach me about the great variety of teas that are worth careful consideration and appreciation. _

_ Although my father is frequently in Enbarr due to his position, I have only been a few times, and only when I was very young. I know little about how the arts are practiced there. It would be difficult to tell you which experiences I would most enjoy when so much of my artistic experience in Varley is shaped by the people who taught me these arts and the way I integrate my artistic endeavors into my daily life. I hope very dearly that I will enjoy the opera and will be able to offer your friend my heartfelt congratulations on their performances. I have had very few opportunities to attend such public shows, and have only seen them with my family. I look forward to going out with you, regardless of which arts I find most enticing in Enbarr. _

_ My dear Mr. Aegir, I understand that being engaged to someone you've never met could be intimidating. However, just as you are engaged to me, so I am engaged to you. Have faith that our fathers chose well for us and know that I am committed to ensuring a good and fruitful marriage. I am dedicated to you in my heart now, as well as by the words of our fathers. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Bernadetta von Varley _

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand was full to bursting with anticipation. While his wedding had originally been expected in the Fall, the timing had been moved up for reasons no one would explain. It was Garland Moon and only a week until he married Miss Varley. He kept three months of her letters in his room, and reread them frequently. He told his friends of her elegant hand, showed them her beautiful embroidery, and spent his evenings miserably uncertain. He would marry her, yes, of course he would marry her. But did he  _ want _ to marry her? He truly didn't know.

.-._.-._.-._

A letter came from Father that the date had been set for the third day of Blue Sea Moon and the whole house was thrown into a panic, especially Mother. Bernadetta was comforted partly because there was so little time before her husband became a known threat instead of an unknown one, and partly because she simply didn't have time to sit around and worry. She had to pack her things and try on not only a wedding dress, but the dresses a young woman in Enbarr high society would need. The simple dresses she wore at home, that had been taken out and let down several times each, wouldn't suit a future duchess. She was only allowed to keep about half of them. Mother made most of the decisions for her, but just considering the questions of what to buy was exhausting.

Weeks passed in a flurry until she finally stood with Mother and her sisters outside the carriage that would take them to Enbarr. A footman helped them in, and then it was scant minutes until they left.

"Oh, Bernadetta, you'll be such a beautiful bride," Mother said. "Let me look at you." And she reached across the carriage and cupped Bernie's cheek in one hand as Bernie tried not to cry.

"It's all going to be okay," Mother said. "I have heard nothing but good things about the Aegir boy. By all accounts, an upstanding, personable young man." She put a hand gently on each of Bernadetta's shoulders. With a brief sideways glance at her other girls, she said, "But you… I worry about you on your own account, Bernie. You are young, and… small, and… I worry." She pulled something out of her travel bag, a package wrapped in plain muslin. "I have something for you. To keep you safe. I do not worry that your husband will be cruel to you, but I do worry that… That, if you were to have a child in the near future, it would hurt you. Do you understand?"

Bernadetta imagined trying to carry an entire baby in her belly, or push it out. It would tear her in half. She nodded.

Mother nodded, too, and handed the package over. "So I'm giving you this," she said. "If you ever find yourself pregnant -- you know how to tell if you're pregnant?"

Bernadetta nodded. "If my monthly bleeding stops," she said.

"Yes, that's exactly it," Mother confirmed. "If you find yourself pregnant, and you feel unsafe, take a good handful of these leaves and brew them in water for half an hour. Drink all the liquid you get. It won't be pleasant, but you will no longer be with child."

Bernadetta nodded and tucked the package into her own travel bag. She removed her shawl so the leaves weren't sitting on top.

"Now you're completely safe," Mother said, and then they were both crying as they hugged each other. Bernadetta had never felt close with her mother, but it was still hard to be leaving her home and the people she knew. It was a long road to get to Enbarr, a long day's journey in a cramped carriage. But it was Bernie's last chance to be alone with her mother and sisters, so she took care to enjoy all of the rest of it, sharing boredom and word games and discussing the specifics of her dowry that no one had told her about before. Her sisters had more questions on that account than she did; thinking about how much Father had spent to rid himself of her made her queasy.


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Bernadetta get married and return to Ferdinand's father's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I wasn't able to say hi before bc first-chapter notes always seem to turn into every-chapter notes for me. I'm so excited to start getting into the real conflict of the story!
> 
> This is the first noncon chapter, so if you don't want to read that section, stop reading when Ferdinand and Bernadetta are pushed into a room together and pick up again at the scene shift / "Lorenz had not been to a great many weddings," and you can learn what happened at the same time Lorenz does!
> 
> I made a lot of changes to canon and I'll try to keep you updated as I go. For example, I couldn't figure out any way to make Bernie's clothes make sense if she didn't have access to modern elastic, so I changed her whole wardrobe to something more Regency for thematic reasons.
> 
> I'll probably start posting longer chapters after this; there's a lot of story to get through! But I did want to give the wedding its own chapter, since it's such an important part of this story.

On the day of her wedding, Bernadetta felt like all her actions were being done for her. After breakfast with her family, where Father reminded her that she would be attended all day and would be unable to make some sort of last-minute escape (as if she hadn't been constantly under watch the whole week she'd been in Enbarr), she was taken to a distant cousin's house who lived right near the church where she would be married. Bernadetta had been surprised at how many aunts, uncles, cousins, and other relations had come out of the woodwork upon her announcement of marriage, but Mother had kept the contact information of most of them. Probably, the same had happened to her husband-to-be, as many of the women referred to him as "Ferdie" and told her what a charming, handsome, pleasant, energetic, or upright young man he was.

A whole house full of women processed Bernadetta for bridehood. She spent the whole morning after she got there in a dressing gown as women she'd never met pulled her hair into an elaborate updo, then did her makeup, then did…  _ something _ to her fingernails that turned them a more even pink color and filed them down nicely. It felt like hours before she even saw her dress. All the same makeup and a nearly as elaborate hairdo were foisted on Ellie, who was to be her bridesmaid despite being only fifteen. It was strange to see her sister, only two years younger than her but probably now Father's heiress, dressed as something akin to a bride. Eleonora was far from plain, but she was most comfortable in her mind, learning to do the accounts or helping Mother organize the household for large events. Bernie had never thought to imagine her in such an elegant dress, being transformed into a proper bridesmaid.

It was alright, though. Knowing that her younger sister was the second option for marriage if she failed in her duty, Bernadetta would wed Mr. Aegir even if he hadn't sent her such sweet letters. She had always borne the brunt of their parents' disapproval, and now she would bear the heaviest task they'd set her yet. And Ellie would enjoy her big sister's marriage, and everything would go to plan.

Finally, it was almost time for the wedding. Preparing Bernadetta had been a sort of party on its own, and half her aunts and female cousins had already had a good amount to drink. Bernadetta had barely been able to eat the snacks that had been put out and passed around. She was helped into her wedding dress, purple silk with lace trim and fancy folded patterns on the arms. As jewelry and accessories were added onto her, she sat still, worrying that any movement could hurt the delicate fabric.

Finally, everyone left and it was just Mother, Eleonora, and the servants who helped them into the carriage. A carriage had seemed excessive to Bernadetta before, since they were only going a couple blocks, but now she barely wanted to move with all the finery covering her.

After a very short ride, they were led to a sort of holding room. Mister Aegir was surely in a similar room, waiting with his groomsman, if not also his father, to marry her.

.-._.-._.-._

"Do you intend to pace the whole day, or only before the wedding?" Lorenz asked. He'd lost no time draping himself as strangely as possible over a chair. Ferdinand had tried to sit down, but he simply had too much energy. "I feel tired just looking at you." He yawned. "Your fault, by the way, for keeping me up half the night."

"You slept," Ferdinand admonished. He would know; he'd slept much less.

"What will your anxiety accomplish?" Lorenz asked. "The ceremony starts in, oh, fifteen minutes. Everything is sealed. You cannot even change your mind; I have strict orders to tackle you if you try to run out that door."

Ferdinand looked at Lorenz: sitting diagonally in a chair with one gangly leg draped over the arm, curled up with a flute of sparkling wine in one hand, looking as elegant and poised as if he was the one getting married.

"You wouldn't," Ferdinand accused.

"Of course I would; don't be silly," Lorenz corrected him. "But, more importantly, you would never run from your duty."

"Of course not," Ferdinand confirmed.

"Exactly. So I hardly find myself on high alert."

The wedding planner came in and said the priest was ready for them. Lorenz downed the rest of his glass and Ferdie watched him struggle to get out of the very awkward seat he'd put himself in. It was almost funny, despite the way Ferdinand's stomach hadn't settled in a week. He could almost laugh.

They followed the planner to the sanctuary. Ferdinand took his place near the priest, and Lorenz took his place behind Ferdinand.

And then it was scant minutes until he saw her.

Although he'd asked repeatedly to meet Bernadetta, he'd never been able to. Her father walked with her down the aisle, fashionably dressed, but Ferdinand couldn't stop looking at his bride. She was petite, short and slender, in elegantly muted purple silk, dripping in fine lace, pearls, and gold. Her veil was so fine, Ferdinand could see her face even from a distance. He could discern very little from her expression, but he hoped she felt the same way about his face; it would mean she couldn't see the months of dread he'd been trying to stave off.

Ferdinand barely heard the ceremony. He felt lightheaded. He had always expected a good few years to see if there was anyone suitable he chose on his own, and had only had a couple months to adjust to this new reality. How much easier it must be for Bernadetta, who had expected an arranged marriage her whole life!

"Do you, Ferdinand von Aegir, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asked, and Ferdinand stepped forward to lift Miss Varley's veil even though he knew he would be unable to recognize her. He had never seen her before. He stepped back and said, "I do."

"And do you, Bernadetta von Varley, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Miss Varley said. The first time he heard her voice, she was committing herself to him.

"Then I hereby bind you, by the laws of Adrestia and of the Goddess. All the duties of husband and wife, you shall perform to the end of your days. We shall sign."

They turned away from the audience, to the table that held their marriage certificate. Ferdinand, then Bernadetta, then the priest, then Lorenz, then the bridesmaid signed. It took much longer than Ferdinand had expected, and he was shifting nervously from foot to foot by the time the priest led them back up to the front of the platform.

"And now, a kiss to seal their vows before the Goddess," the priest announced, and Ferdinand leaned down and kissed Bernadetta. The first time he touched her was to take her head in his hand so he could kiss her. It felt awkward, but polite applause from their relatives indicated it was a good kiss.

"Very well done," the priest told them quietly when they separated, holding hands. "Now you just have to brave your friends and relatives for the rest of the day."

Ferdinand smiled. It was his habit when he was nervous. He turned to his wife and asked, "Are you ready to be congratulated for hours?"

Miss Varley -- Missus Bernadetta von Aegir -- nodded. Her eyes shone with determination.

"Then let us waste no time," Ferdinand encouraged. Turning to the assembled families, he raised his and his wife's joined hands and kept her close to him as they walked together out into the courtyard, greeting relatives along the way.

There was no lack of things to do, it turned out, at your own wedding. The well-wishes were constant. There was only one part Ferdinand was dreading, and they at least waited until after the early dinner to start it.

It was tradition, at noble weddings and perhaps at common ones, as well, to ensure consummation. It legitimized the contract Ferdinand and his wife had just signed, and confirmed to the Goddess that they were truly wed. It also confirmed Bernadetta's virginity, which Ferdinand had no reason to doubt in the first place.

His uncles and older cousins had been offering advice that they seemed to think would be helpful, but Ferdinand still wasn't sure how to start. When he and Mrs. Aegir were pushed into a bedroom, he smiled nervously and said, "I am afraid I do not quite know what to do."

"I do," his new bride said, and he was sure he was blushing even brighter than she was, even though she was bright red. "You just--" She stepped forward quickly and kissed him, and pulled him with her toward the bed.

Ferdie ended up on top of his bride, who lost no time beginning to unbutton his breeches.

"Is this not a little fast?" he asked, putting a hand over hers to stop her. (Her hands were so small, how were her hands so  _ small _ when they were the same age?) "We only met a couple hours ago, and have been too busy to get to know each other." His wife startled easily and found large parties, including their wedding, overwhelming. She muttered to herself sometimes. Ferdinand wanted to meet the refined, poised young lady from her letters.

"We c-can't leave this room until my virginity is proven," Mrs. Aegir reminded him.

"So we have time," Ferdie argued. "For the first time all day, we can take our time." He pushed past the twinge in his chest telling him he was being too forward, and cupped his bride's face in his hand and asked, "How… How would you like to be kissed?"

She looked up the length of his arm and said, "I have no experience. However you like will be fine."

Ferdinand smiled and said, "I have only as much experience as you." Hoping he wasn't pushing his luck, he changed the question: "And, if I were to hold you, how would you like to be held? Gently? Passionately? When we embrace, should I hold you tight, or do you prefer a more delicate touch?" He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her slender fingers, carefully applying only the most delicate pressure to her hand as he held it. "If I am to learn to love and appreciate your body, then let me start with the ways I know. Let me hold you, and learn to kiss you. I am in no rush."

The blush on his bride's cheeks was unmistakable as she looked away from him. "I think… I-I-I think we should do what's expected," she told him, "and we'll have time for that l-later." She slid her hands down his sides, to his hips, and pulled him closer to her by the waist. "You will-- push inside of me and I-I… will receive you."

Ferdinand brushed a hand over her shoulder, smiling down at her as he tried to picture the act in his mind. He was still very uncertain. "Let them wait," he said. "I always found this a crass part of weddings, anyway. I want to see the light in your eyes when you tell me about pitcher plants. I want to have a real conversation, or I worry it will feel indecent to see you undressed, or to undress in front of you." His heart beat hard in his chest. He had never seen a woman undressed before. He didn't even know what their legs looked like, if they were the same as a man's or somehow different, or if bawdy songs and comments distinguished them because they belonged to women and not because they were shaped differently.

"I-I-I-I'm your wife," his wife reminded him. "It's r-right to see me that w-way." Her hands hadn't left his hips, and now her thumbs brushed over his hip bones. She rolled her hips up against his and-- oh, that felt very nice, actually.

"Oh, um, and you are… certain you feel ready for… I mean, we can stop at any point, naturally, if you feel uncomfortable," Ferdinand said. He was rambling. Why was he rambling? This was not only his duty; it was one of the great joys of marriage. So why did his heart feel like it was going to beat out of his chest? It had to be leftover nerves from earlier. He'd thought he'd calmed down during the reception, while his responsibilities had mostly been thanking people for coming. "Hah, can you even imagine that? Me, Ferdinand von Aegir, upsetting my own wife. That would be the day. Absolutely intolerable, people who do that. Oh, my, I'm-- a bit nervous; I'm sorry. It must just be first-time jitters. Possibly because you're so beautiful. And delicate; you look so delicate, and here I am sitting on top of you, and-- do you need more space? I can-- ohh!"

She'd rolled her hips up against his again, and to her credit, it did shut him up. His breeches felt tighter than they had a moment ago. She looked demurely at his shoulder, her eyes just glancing off his face, but her actions showed determination.

"Do I just-- hitch up your skirt when I am ready?" he asked. "Is there some extra step? You will have to help me with your clothing; I know so little about it." He knew there were layers and layers, and shaping garments, and all sorts of mysterious things that went into women's clothing, and he couldn't profess to be an expert. For the moment, he just finished unbuttoning his breeches, rolling his hips against his bride's in response. Her actions had elicited great pleasure from his body, despite his unsettled mind, and he hoped to return the favor.

At last, his clothing was undone and pulled out of the way. His bride's skirt was hitched up and her drawers parted. Uncertain despite the clear instructions, Ferdinand asked, "Are you sure this is right?" He'd never touched more than a woman's hand or arm before. Removing so many layers didn't feel exciting; it felt like an invasion of privacy.

"Ent-tirely sure," Mrs. Aegir assured him, but her voice was small.

"I do not… feel right," Ferdinand admitted. He moved so he was kneeling next to his wife, instead of over her, and re-tied the drawstring at his waist. "Tell me if you do not feel any of my reluctance, but I feel like it would be unjust of me to… I mean, with us barely knowing each other, and… Oh, this is my old cowardice coming back, isn't it? I am Ferdinand von Aegir; of course it would be wrong of me to leave my own wife unsatisfied on our wedding night. I just… I cannot say I have ever touched a young lady's hip, or her leg, before today."

"You don't want to?" Mrs. Aegir asked in a tiny voice, and Ferdinand was glad, for her sake, that he'd paid attention to his own discomfort.

"I do not," Ferdinand told her. "By no fault of yours. You are beautiful, and elegant, and I look forward to getting to know you. I speak only of my own cowardice." He started re-buttoning his breeches.

"Oh, you've really done it now, Bernie," his wife muttered to herself. "You scared off your own groom. Why are you like this?"

"I have never lain with a woman before," Ferdinand admitted. "I find you incredibly beautiful; I just… need a little more time to get so close to you. I would like to spend time with you clothed, first." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"We n. Need the blood, though," Mrs. Aegir pointed out. "Or they'll never let us out of here."

Ferdinand did his best not to think about how she had stopped stuttering. He said, "Simple. Blood can come from anywhere, right?" He went to sit on the edge of the bed, with his feet on the ground, and pushed up his left sleeve. He drew his belt-knife and pricked the side of his arm, and mopped up the blood messily with the handkerchief so it wouldn't look like it had been used to staunch an arm prick.

"Does that look right?" he asked Bernadetta. He realized after he'd started that he didn't know the right amount of blood.

"I think so," his bride told him. There was certainly a nice amount of red on it, but not enough to look gory. "Oh. Also, spit on it."

"Excuse me?"

"It should have… some clear, sort of gooey substance. It… w-wouldn't be plain blood."

Ferdinand shrugged and spit over the blood on the handkerchief. He pulled out one of his own handkerchiefs from his pocket and checked it for pitcher plants before using it to soak up the last of his arm blood.

"Are you ready?" he asked his bride quietly. "Your clothes rearranged? Would you like me to check your hair?"

"Oh…" Mrs. Aegir sat up, then stood, and Ferdinand looked away as she hitched up her skirts, presumably to rearrange her drawers. At last she said, "Ready," so Ferdinand took her hand and led her to the door of the room.

-._.-._.-._

Lorenz had not been to a great many weddings. He was at this one, presently, to support his friend getting married and also as an able-bodied person who could, theoretically, either physically restrain Ferdinand if he got cold feet, or else marry the poor girl himself.

He had never heard of a groomsman  _ actually _ having to marry the bride, but still. Tradition and all that.

So he waited dutifully outside the bedroom the happy couple had been pushed into, and chatted with the bridesmaid -- the middle Varley girl, as it turned out, and the new Miss Varley -- over drinks and hors d'euvres, and waited for Ferdie and his new wife to emerge.

There was all sorts of uproar when they finally came out. Aunts and female cousins pushed forward to surround the bride and congratulate her, and uncles clapped Ferdie on the back and made raunchy jokes about how he had "really given it to her" and "showed her the score from day one." Ferdinand smiled along and thanked them, but Lorenz could have sworn he looked distinctly pale. Something about his eyes looked panicky. Technically, Lorenz supposed, his job of wrangling the groom was over now that the contract had been sealed for both civil and religious law. But Lorenz wasn't a man who abandoned his friends, and he certainly didn't abandon young women who had been treated harshly by all accounts, and staying out of the drama sounded boring, besides.

The women were singing a song that Lorenz had only heard at weddings, and only from across the room. He waited his turn so as not to intrude, finally getting his chance to approach the bride several minutes later.

"Mrs. Aegir," he said, introducing himself with a bow. They'd already said hello, of course, but she'd met far too many people today to be expected to remember any of them. "Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. I was your husband's groomsman."

"Oh. Y-yes."

"Could we talk privately? I have a wedding gift for you." He didn't stop smiling. The new Mrs. Aegir seemed flighty, and Lorenz didn't want to seem intimidating.

She nodded, so they retreated into a small book room. Hardly more than a closet, but it had a door and a window, and it would do.

Lorenz no longer pushed himself to smile. "I do not condone what he did to you," he told the young woman, double-checking that the door was closed. "I suppose, more than a gift, I have an offer: if you were at all upset by what Ferdinand did to you, I will readily challenge him on your behalf." He tried to look her in the eye, but she was looking down.

She did look up when she processed what he'd said. "W-what???"

Lorenz nodded. "I meant what I said. If Ferdinand hurt you -- on your wedding day, no less -- I would be happy to challenge him for you." There was no change to the shock on her face, so he added, "Not to harm him, you understand. These affairs seldom end in blood. Just to force an apology for hurting you."

Finally, she looked away. "Oh. N-no, it's… fine."

Lorenz reached down and took her hand in both of his. "If you do ever find yourself in need of a friend," he told her, "Please know that I abhor violence, and that I will remember I was here during this announcement." He nodded to her and walked back out into the hall, looking for Ferdinand von Aegir.

He finally found the man surrounded by a group of drunk uncles (and he noticed Ferdie's and Ferdinand's bride's fathers in the group) telling the type of bawdy stories that required powerful hand gestures to go with them. Ferdinand, still smiling, occasionally nodding along, looked positively green. So Lorenz pushed his way into the middle of the group, using none of the delicacy he'd reserved for the women.

"Alright, alright, are you lot going to keep him to yourselves, or are you going to let me give the man his wedding gift?" Lorenz asked, smiling, and finally managed to link his arm with Ferdinand's.

That started half of them cheering, and even pushing Ferdinand and Lorenz out of the group, so Lorenz was able to pull Ferdinand over to a bedroom and shut them both in.

Once the door was closed, he detached himself from Ferdinand and let his anger show on his face. The first words on his lips were, "What did you do to her?"

The blank look on Ferdinand's face was not promising.

"I'm serious, Ferdinand. You know I will not tolerate violence against women, and I thought you felt the same."

"I did not hurt her," Ferdinand protested. "I would never--"

"The evidence says otherwise," Lorenz reminded him. "Do you know, I asked Mrs. Aegir if I should challenge you over this. Our friendship is dear to me, but my integrity matters more. She told me to drop it, and I will, but I want you to know what an obedient, forgiving wife you have, because if anything ever happens to her, it will be your head I--"

"We didn't have sex." Ferdinand nearly whispered it. His shoulders hunched. Color flooded back to his cheeks. "Not at all. We were going to, and then I… wimped out, and nothing happened." He slid up the sleeve of his shirt. "The blood is mine. I pricked myself so we would have a way to leave the room with no embarrassment or doubt." Looking closer, Lorenz could see a recent-looking scab on Ferdinand's arm, small enough to go unnoticed but large enough to produce the blood Lorenz had seen on the handkerchief."I wanted to be sure we had enough. It… backfired. Worked too well."

Lorenz looked at his friend. The man was nearly crying. "They keep telling me how manly it is that I was rough with her. Sometimes, they get more explicit than that. She is my  _ wife _ , Lorenz. I have a sacred duty to protect her. It has been my great dismay to spend my wedding learning to hate my father and father-in-law beyond even what I feel after the Insurrection."

Lorenz stepped forward and put an arm around Ferdinand's hunched shoulders. "You will sort it out," he soothed. "She knows you were not violent with her, so she has your measure now, right?"

Ferdinand smiled, but he looked exhausted. "Right. Goddess, Lorenz, I'm  _ married _ now, can you believe it?"

"I was there," Lorenz pointed out.

"Right, right. I just… need a bit of time to digest it."

"Then we should go back to the party," Lorenz suggested. "Get a couple of drinks in you and start something that will not be segregated by gender."

Ferdinand huddled closer to him and nodded. Lorenz smiled and gave his friend a squeeze around the shoulders.

.-._.-._.-._

It was well past midnight when Ferdinand and his bride got home. Father had headed back hours earlier, but as the newlyweds, they had a responsibility to stay as late as possible. Ferdinand had politely excused them when his wife started looking as tired as he felt, and was unsurprised when she napped in the carriage home.

He touched her shoulder gently when they arrived. "Mrs. Aegir…" That wasn't even her name until today. Would it be rude to use her first name? She was sleeping soundly. Ferdinand defaulted to a term he'd used for her before, instead. "My dear, it is time to wake up." Her eyes opened, just barely. Ferdinand smiled and said, "We are home. Time to go to bed."

"Oh… I-I-I'm sorry I was asleep--" his bride started.

"Shhhh, none of that. Let us go in; I am exhausted, too." He took her hand and stepped out of the carriage, then helped her down.

“Our room,” Ferdinand said when they arrived at their door. That morning, it had been his room alone. “Your things arrived yesterday morning. They should all be there. Should I… carry you over the threshold?” That sounded ridiculous, didn’t it? “I am sorry I forgot when we came in the house. Must be the hour. But I will if you want me to.” It was an inherently silly tradition. He sort of got the feeling the silliness was part of the point.

“So, I don’t get my own room,” his bride mused. She looked asleep on her feet.

“I think we should just try to sleep,” Ferdinand told her. “If sharing my room makes you uncomfortable, I would be happy to figure out other arrangements in the morning.” He yawned and it nearly split his jaw in two. “Or I could sleep on the floor. Whatever makes you comfortable.” He opened his door and pressed a gentle hand to the small of her back to usher her inside.

She screamed.

“What did I do?” Ferdinand asked as he jumped away from her. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” He looked her up and down. She was very shaken, but not visibly hurt.

“Just… startled me,” she said. She didn’t really lower her voice when she turned away and added, “Nice going, Bernie, acting like a total weirdo in front of your husband. On your wedding night, no less--”

“I can sleep elsewhere,” Ferdinand offered. “It… has been a long day, has it not?”

“I c… couldn’t push you out of your own room,” his wife insisted.

“Then think of it as your room,” Ferdinand advised. “It is, after all. Only, could I leave some of my accessories in my wardrobe? I have kept your handkerchief in its own spot so I remember it every morning. I suppose I have no need of a reminder of you now that you live here, but… I have great respect for the care you put into making it.” He had a remembrance of her. He had a wedding band on his ring finger that made his hand feel crowded. But his wife didn’t make his wedding band, and she did embroider his handkerchief.

“You still keep it?” Mrs. Aegir asked.

Ferdinand nodded. “I think I will until you give me something else of yours,” he admitted. “Possibly longer.”

There was a long pause wherein Ferdinand’s bride looked back and forth between him and the door, and then she said, “You… should come in. To stay.”

“I will only be a minute,” Ferdinand assured her. He opened the door further and walked in, already removing his pocket square. “Then I will let you have some peace.” He pulled the embroidered handkerchief out from the bottom of his breast pocket and placed it delicately on the same shelf as his pocket squares and cravats, and patted it flat with his fingertips. He was much less careful with the other accessories he’d worn that day; he could deal with them perfectly well in the morning.

As he left, he and his bride nodded to each other. He didn’t know why; he only knew that he didn’t know the etiquette of the situation. He mumbled something like, “Sleep well,” and Mrs. Aegir mumbled something like, “You, too,” and then he was in the hallway and the door was shut and he was keenly aware of the housekeeper coming down the hall with a lit candle.

“Did I hear something?” she asked. “Is everything alright?”

“I startled Mrs. Aegir by accident,” Ferdinand admitted, knowing how suspicious he sounded. “I think she needs some time to adjust to living here. The room at the end of the hall is unoccupied, if I remember correctly?”

She looked bewildered. “It is, but why aren’t you sleeping with your wife?”

"It was a long day for her," Ferdinand pointed out, and yawned hugely. "I would not ask any more of her. Of course this transition will be challenging." If thinking about his own wife wanting nothing to do with him on their wedding night made tears come unbidden to his eyes, that was his problem to deal with.

After a bit more back and forth, he was finally able to escape the conversation and go down the hallway to the unused guest room. He pulled off his outer layers, draped them over a chair, and lay down in a bed that wasn't his. He wondered if Bernadetta felt as troubled as he did, or if her exhaustion had caught up with her more quickly. He didn't know how to support her as her husband when she wouldn't even sleep next to him, and it felt like there was no way to move forward.

He closed his eyes and slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter: Ferdinand and Bernadetta have to learn how to live together, and Bernie's family visits to ensure everything is going smoothly!


	3. In Enbarr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand tries to help Bernadetta adjust to life in Enbarr and plans a honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty long! You can expect more long chapters because we've got a lot of story ahead of us and I don't want to still be posting chapters a year from now.
> 
> Did you know opera singers just used to sing songs again when you clapped long enough? They'd sing their aria, everyone would applaud, and they'd basically sing it again and again until people stopped applauding so hard. It was THE way to hear the song multiple times before recording.
> 
> When I was little, I had a kids' version of The Magic Flute that was really fun. It was very disappointing to learn that it was so fun because all the boring parts had been taken out. (Also, why do we trust Sarrastro? How do we know he's as genuine as he says? P sure the Queen of the Night is only evil bc she's a woman who wants power, as opposed to Sarrastro, a man who wants power and has good public speaking skills. Stan Papageno and Papagena!)
> 
> I was practically done with this story when I realized the school year in FE3H starts in the Spring, and I couldn't figure out how to make everything happen properly with the canonical school year, so their school starts in Fall.

The next morning was sort of a mess.

There were a lot of guests staying at Aegir House just so they could be in town. When Ferdinand woke up and found himself in the wrong bed, he remembered that he was married and then he remembered that his wife was intimidated by crowds. There had been no fewer than eight people at breakfast, regardless of the time of morning he went, for three days. Ferdinand suddenly understood the purpose of a honeymoon.

He was sure it was late. When did Mrs. Aegir like to wake up? And when would she wake after a late night like their wedding night? Ferdinand certainly wanted to dress in normal clothes, but he didn't want to wake her or walk in on her changing.

He lay still for a while, cursing himself for being a useless husband who intimidated his own wife, until he remembered he was trying not to think that way anymore. He was Ferdinand von Aegir. He held his actions to a high standard, and he couldn't think of a way he hadn't managed to reach that standard yesterday. The problem had to be some error in communication, and he could get some private time with his wife today to talk about their customs and expectations.

Cousin Marla's baby started to cry in the next room, and then poured every bit of air in its lungs into screaming, and Ferdinand resolved to plan a honeymoon, as well, and get out of the City as soon as possible.

Should they go to Gloucester? They wouldn't be journeying alone if they did, and Lorenz was the type who would know where to relax. If Ferdinand didn't know his friend's parents, who somehow both looked completely different from each other, but exactly like their son, he would have assumed the man had sprung fully-formed out of a scented spa bath.

While he made plans, the baby had stopped crying, making it the only one in either his or his cousin's bedroom who had managed to get some breakfast.

So Ferdinand got out of bed and pulled yesterday's clothes on. He went out into the hallway and knocked softly on his door. "Mrs. Aegir?" he called softly, "Are you awake?"

"Oh! I-I-I-I am!" the response from inside came.

"Can I come in?" Ferdinand asked. "I should very much like to change and go to breakfast."

The door opened and there was his wife, waiting meekly for him to come in, her eyes downcast, no particular expression on her face. Her dress today was light blue, with a darker ribbon about the waist. She wore a blue hoodie over it. Her hair was fluffy and fell in strange, frizzy locks, like she hadn't brushed it yet.

"I can just change my waistcoat and then no one will think twice about me," Ferdinand told her, crossing the room to his wardrobe and unbuttoning his vest. "Anyway, why would they when I have such a dazzling young woman at my side?"

If anything, Mrs. Aegir seemed to shrink when he complimented her.

"I was thinking we could spend the morning together," Ferdinand tried. "Even have breakfast sent up, if you still feel overwhelmed from yesterday. I think it would do us good to get to know each other, and perhaps also to plan a honeymoon outside the city. My friend Lorenz Gloucester -- you met him; he offered to challenge me on your behalf -- could probably put us up very nicely for a couple weeks, and we could avoid all the rush of the city."

"Whatever you think would be best," his wife said. Her voice was vanishingly small.

Ferdinand frowned as he pulled a more ordinary, everyday waistcoat out of his wardrobe. "I am asking for your input," he told her. Was he not making that clear? "Let me clarify: would you  _ like _ to go to breakfast together, or would you prefer to eat in privacy? And would you  _ enjoy _ going to the country, or are you sick of the country and excited about the city?"

"What would you find most enjoyable?" Mrs. Aegir asked. She spoke so quietly, Ferdinand had difficulty making out her words.

"I will enjoy myself either way," he said, though he mostly meant about breakfast. "We have had quite the crowd at mealtimes lately. Would you like to go take in another round of congratulations, and perhaps hear some of my embarrassing childhood stories, or would you prefer a more peaceful morning?"

"I… will do whatever you want me to," his wife told him, but now she sounded upset. "I don't know how you want me to answer. I'll get better, I promise, just… what do you want me to say?"

Ferdinand frowned again. He asked, "Are you well?" and walked to her to brush her bangs aside and lift his wrist to her forehead. She didn't feel feverish, but she shook under his hands. "Mrs. Aegir… I do not ask trick questions. It would be quite ignoble of me to offer two good options and be upset with you for picking one, would it not?"

He would have asked why she was so certain he had only one answer in mind, but she jumped back and said, quite energetically, "Ohhh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to imply anything about you; I just didn't quite get what you were asking, and--"

"All is well," Ferdinand assured her. "No offense taken."

"But to imply something so ignoble of you! Ohhh, I really am stupid! Get it together, Bernie!"

"I must insist you stop insulting yourself," Ferdinand interrupted. Was his wife somehow even stranger than the rumors had made her sound? If so, he neither feared her nor hated her; he just pitied her. "It is no hardship to me if decisions are difficult for you. Would it suit you to have breakfast together, in our bedroom, and you can rest after I upset you so?"

"I can go down to breakfast," Mrs. Aegir insisted. "I don't want your family to think less of me…"

"I insist," Ferdinand told her. Even without a fever, he doubted she was well. "We can make a quiet morning of it. Yesterday was far too exciting."

She nodded, finally conceding, but Ferdinand didn't feel there was any victory in it for him. He went to the door and saw a maid passing by, carrying sheets. He asked her to have breakfast for two sent to his room at her earliest convenience, and then he ducked back into his room.

Mrs. Aegir was fiddling with the hem of her jacket, looking down, looking nervous. So Ferdinand went to put an arm around her shoulders and said, "All is well, Mrs. Aegir. Here, would you like to sit down?" He didn't know what to do. It seemed that everything he did aggravated her delicate constitution. She let him sit her down on the chair from the writing desk, but she still wouldn't look at him.

"I have said a great many things this morning that have upset you," Ferdinand admitted, sitting down on his bed to face her.  _ (Their _ bed; it was both of theirs now.) "I think, after breakfast, we should discuss our expectations for marriage. Then I might be able to be a better husband to you."

His wife nodded, apparently not speaking again. To cheer her a bit, he asked, "What do you eat for breakfast in Varley?"

.-._.-._.-._

"What do you eat for breakfast in Varley?" her husband asked, like it was still relevant somehow. He hadn't seemed the type to mock her homesickness, but people were full of surprises.

"Oh, porridge," Bernadetta said. "Or bread with butter and jam or cheese. Nothing elaborate." Well, sometimes pastries or other fancy things, when it was a holiday, but usually the normal, mild breakfast foods that were common throughout the country. "What do you eat here in Enbarr?"

"Much the same," her husband told her. "Do you drink tea with breakfast?"

She shook her head. She had never gotten into the habit. "Though I believe I mentioned in my l-letters that I'm looking forward to trying Enbarr's teas," she reminded him. She wasn't looking forward to breakfast. Her husband seemed like a stickler for doing things the proper way, in the proper order. If he said nothing would happen until after breakfast, then she believed him. But she feared what would come after breakfast. Her virginity loomed over her like a dark cloud, and the expectations her husband had to have were like a weight on her shoulders.

It was truly ironic. Father had spent all those years training her to be silent, and she had screamed and thrashed and bit, but now that she was married, the reality of what was expected of her was paralyzing. She could barely speak at a normal volume half the time. More than leaving her home behind, what horrified her was that she felt like only half the person she was before, not even spirited about her fearfulness, just… timid. Breakable.

"--if it would suit you, or-- Mrs. Aegir? Are you alright? I apologize; we have no need to go to Gloucester at all. I had no idea it would upset you so, or I would never have-- here." Her husband produced a blue handkerchief from his pocket and Bernadetta stared at it for a moment, not understanding.

A tear fell down her cheek and she realized she had been crying. She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She had no reason to cry. This was always going to be her fate.

"Perhaps all the excitement has made me ill," she suggested. It was a pathetic excuse, an easy out. Her voice wouldn't reach its usual volume. "I've only been in Enbarr for a few days."

"Ah, of course," Mr. Aegir said, as if that made sense. "Do you need a healer? I can send for--"

"I would like a timeline." Bernadetta didn't mean to interrupt. She never should have, but she had never had a talent for thinking things through. "I would like to know when we will complete our marriage contract before the Goddess. I know I'm plain, and I can be difficult sometimes, but I would like to know when to expect you." The uncertainty was killing her. She knew she was unlovable; that had been confirmed to her many times over. She knew, as well, that she was ugly and no man would ever desire her for her looks. And her temperament was the worst of all her bad qualities. But her husband was a man who did things by the book, and he could easily divorce her for her ineptitude until they'd lain together, and she didn't know what Father would do to her if she returned in disgrace, unable to satisfy the man he'd chosen for her.

"Why would you say such things?" her husband asked, looking horrified. "Have I not already told you how beautiful I find you? Have I… given any impression that I dislike you? You are my wife. I… need to overcome my own cowardice, Mrs. Aegir. I apologize that I cannot give you a timeline for that. It is a project I have worked on diligently for nearly a year, now, and new challenges surprise me every day. You have my sincere apology that my problems are causing so much stress for you; I would never leave you in suspense of my own volition."

He was kind. He was very kind, to call her beautiful even behind a closed door, but she had no delusions about how undesirable she was. “I will, of course, do whatever my husband wishes,” she conceded. She hadn’t even meant to make such a demand of him. She bowed her head in deference, and hoped he would change the subject.

“I think, before we plan anything, we need to discuss the customs of our houses with regards to marriage,” Mr. Aegir told her. His voice was quiet. He almost sounded hurt. “I believe that will clear up a number of misunderstandings.”

“A prudent plan,” Bernadetta agreed. And they would talk after breakfast. She only had one meal to sit through, and then her husband would instruct her in the way she should act so that she wouldn’t upset him again.

.-._.-._.-._

Sitting through breakfast was very nearly painful. Ferdinand's stomach wouldn't settle, but it hadn't really settled in nearly a month and he'd learned to just eat, anyway. Now that his marriage had happened, and he had met his wife, there was a completely different set of challenges than he had originally expected.

Not that he wasn't up to the task! It was his job, as her husband, to bring her comfortably into his family home. But he felt like he couldn't talk seriously with her for fear of upsetting her. Perhaps their talk after breakfast would illuminate why he kept putting his foot in his mouth around her.

At last, the porridge and eggs were gone and there were only a few sips of tea left in Ferdinand's cup. He invited his wife to sit with him on the bed, and she did. She pulled her jacket snugly around herself.

“When I think of being a husband, I think of the vows that go into becoming a husband,” Ferdinand told her. “Our world is especially dangerous for women, so I see it as my duty to protect my wife. It was always my understanding that protecting your loved ones is the manliest thing you can do.

“My duty as a husband is not to track the way you treat me, as if you owe me something for fulfilling my obligations. If I find myself with a fearful wife, then I must put in the extra effort to ensure she feels safe. There are no two ways about it. I feel like we have misunderstood each other since we met, so I would appreciate knowing what you believe are your duties as a wife.”

“Obedience,” Mrs. Aegir said immediately. “In all things. It is… not my duty, but certainly my obligation, to stay quiet and out of your way, except in those ways that I can support you.” Ferdinand struggled to keep listening instead of contradicting her. “It is for a wife to provide tranquility in the household, once we have our own home.”

“Do those responsibilities make you happy?” Ferdinand asked.

“Marriage is a joy,” Bernadetta countered. A platitude? She didn’t seem the type.

“My mother died when I was young,” Ferdinand pointed out. “Perhaps I have a slightly idealized understanding of marriage between nobles. But why do you seem so fearful if you have trusted in a husband who would be worth… obeying… You did not expect a husband who would be worth obeying, did you?”

“A husband must be obeyed, regardless of your opinions,” Bernadetta told him. It was like picking up a ladies’ etiquette book from a hundred years ago.

“Then I will tell you now,” Ferdinand said. “No-- I will ask you. Beg you.” He turned so he was on his knees in front of her instead of sitting next to her. He touched her wrist and she gave him her hand readily. “If I ever ask something of you that makes you uncomfortable, please disobey. Nothing will make me happier than knowing I have a wife who protects her own interests. It will bring me an unsurpassed feeling of security. I… do not wish to make demands of you so early in our marriage, and there is certainly no expectation that you will succeed in every case after a lifetime of expecting the opposite, but do you think you could offer me that reassurance?”

There was a very long pause. Ferdinand wasn’t sure his wife quite understood what he was asking. Finally she said, “I wrote to you, early in our engagement, that I had always hoped for a husband who was kind. I think I need to tell you my expectations in more detail. If you didn’t take your anger out on me physically, and allowed me some degree of freedom to go into town on my own, that would be enough. It would be beyond my expectations. In the sort of marriage I expected, I knew what to expect. I knew my own shortcomings. Now you have told me of a shortcoming I didn’t know I had: you believe me to be blindly obedient without any reason. That is not the comfort to me that you seem to think it is.”

Ferdinand’s chest ached, hearing her words. He squeezed her hand tighter between his own. His wife had expected him to be one of the men he’d gotten the measure of at his wedding, who congratulated him for brutalizing her into submission. It was a great burden to him that his own father had been among that number, but he couldn’t deny that her expectations were reasonable for a young woman who expected an arranged marriage.

Her father had been among them, too. Her own father had been proud of him for hurting her. He should have known then what sort of men Mrs. Aegir expected to encounter.

“I do not think it a shortcoming,” Ferdinand assured her. “And I do not think you do it blindly. I cannot imagine how it would feel to see a future of pain and derision ahead of me. However, I have often felt the weight of the titles I will inherit as a force that crushed down on me until it was hard to breathe. I would be glad to help you gain the confidence to assert yourself, but I hope I will not overwhelm you with too much at once…”

His wife looked down and away from him. “I am hardier than I look,” she said. “I will be well.”

“You cried when I asked if you wanted to honeymoon in Gloucester,” Ferdinand reminded her. “You are already unwell.”

“What do you do that helps?” Mrs. Aegir asked. Her voice was tiny, and Ferdinand did not fail to notice that she hadn’t agreed to speak up if he upset her.

Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps he could still do more good than harm, despite his uncertainty.

Ferdinand kissed her hand and sat next to her again. “When I feel overwhelmed by doubts, and I worry that I have little value or talent in the world at large, I say to myself: I am Ferdinand von Aegir. I have the honor of my family’s name to uphold, and the lives of my people to improve, and while the expectations on me may seem like too much, they are not more than many real, flesh-and-blood people have been able to meet throughout history. Thinking this way propels me forward and reassures me that my position is not more than one person can do, but it  _ is _ important and needs to be done.” He smiled at her and added, “You are Bernadetta von Aegir und Varley. You represent a great number of people, and it is entirely within your power to give them good and bountiful futures. Or you might say: you are Bernadetta von Aegir, and your husband is a man who places a high value on your opinions. I hope I will prove myself to be the type of person I imagine myself to be, but in the meantime, I hope that thinking these things to yourself will offer some reassurance.”

Mrs. Aegir smiled. It was a small smile, just the very corners of her mouth, but Ferdinand saw. “I am Bernadetta von Aegir und Varley, and I get to honeymoon in Gloucester,” she said, ducking her head.

Ferdinand laughed and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. “Then I think I need to write Lorenz as soon as possible,” he told her. He kissed the side of her head and said, “I feel better after this conversation. Do you?” He had a lot of thinking to do, certainly, and he would need to think of a good way to reintroduce himself to his wife, but they could work on renewing their first impressions in Gloucester and Ferdinand's chest didn't feel so tight anymore.

Mrs. Aegir, for her part, was blushing bright red. “You… Y-y-y-y-you kissed…”

“Was it too forward?” Ferdinand asked, already knowing the answer. “My intent was… Well, to be cute. Affectionate.”

In the smallest possible voice, looking away from him, but with a big smile on her face, she said, “Do it again.”

Ferdinand grinned and put an arm around her shoulders so he could pull her head towards himself and kiss her soundly above her ear.

“After my letter goes out to Lorenz, we should go riding,” Ferdinand suggested. “I find myself rather put-out with some of my relatives after what they said yesterday, and it is crowded here besides.” He thought of the things his wife had said, about obedience and being thankful for a husband who didn’t readily beat her, and said, “Rather, would  _ you  _ like to go riding? I spoke as I would to my friends, who I know will readily contradict me if they disagree.”

“I’ve looked forward to the parks you wrote about,” Mrs. Aegir told him. “And it will give Mr. Gloucester time to write a response.”

Lorenz would be most put out if Ferdinand  _ asked  _ to join him at Gloucester Estate. No, Ferdinand was already mentally composing a letter informing his friend that he and his wife would be joining him at his home, and Lorenz would inevitably inform his parents of this eventuality, and Lord and Lady Gloucester would have an excuse to show off their rose garden, their cook’s talents, and whatever else they felt was made better by showing it to company.

.-._.-._.-._

As it turned out, Bernie was a pretty good rider even by the standards of the City.

Mr. Aegir showed her his horse and got surprisingly emotional as he watched her feed it a carrot. Then they found her a mount who was well suited to her, a stormy gray-colored gelding with a darker gray mane who snorted at her judgmentally when she said hello but accepted a carrot readily nonetheless and then deigned to allow her to pet his neck. She had always appreciated horses with character. Ferdinand joked that they matched their mounts, since his mare was a lovely tan color and the horse she’d selected was about as close to purple as horses came. They began their leisurely trot through the city streets, which her mount tolerated, but then they hit the park and she was flying.

She had barely kicked her mount’s sides before he leapt forward, lunging into a canter. Bernie laughed in surprise and then yelled, “Well, keep up, then!” at Mr. Aegir, whose horse was following at near the same speed.

She reveled in the speed of the wind in her face and the powerful animal under her, feeling every step as if it was made with her own feet. She almost forgot about her husband as she raced through the long green belt running through Enbarr’s wealthiest district. She could see houses on either side, but only through the trees and bushes surrounding the park. It was like time stopped existing and all there was left were her and her mount, racing indefinitely through an endless park.

And then they came to a trot and then a walk next to a fountain.

Bernie noticed the stitch in her side around the same time she noticed Mr. Aegir and his mount catching up. She pressed a hand to her ribcage as if that ever did anything.

She tried not to show her nervousness as she anticipated the scolding she was about to get. She had abandoned him, ignored him, outshone him for no reason.

Mr. Aegir’s first words to her were, “That was incredible!” Not noting Bernie’s surprise, he continued: “At first I thought it was your horse taking you too quickly, but when I saw how you ride--! I would have to think hard to remember a time I saw such good horsemanship! It was beautiful to watch, despite the difficulty of keeping up!” His mare came up alongside her gelding and joined him in drinking from the fountain. “Your father was entirely right to praise your riding skills. You have such a diversity of talents, Mrs. Aegir.” His chest heaved as he caught his breath, and layer after layer of ruffles with it.

Father had praised her riding? What had he said about her? “My father never compliments my riding,” she told her husband. “There must be some mistake. I don’t even ride sidesaddle, like a proper lady. He finds it crude.”

“Then he can ride sidesaddle,” Mr. Aegir suggested flippantly. “But I had it from my father when it was first arranged: your riding, your painting, your singing and embroidery and the general delicacy of your manner. All were strong points in your favor, along with your crest. I should have expected you to be exceptional on a horse, just as you are exceptional with a needle.”

Father hated her needlework, and especially her plushes. She almost wasn’t allowed to send Mr. Aegir the handkerchief with her first letter because she had embroidered a pitcher plant instead of something boring. Her first flytrap plush had been “lost” by him and she hadn’t been able to bring her second one with her to her husband’s house. He’d told her to her face that her paintings were simplistic and her singing was annoying. Why would he praise any of her skills when she would inevitably embarrass herself with them? Was that part of the reason she hadn’t been allowed to meet her betrothed?

“I’m afraid my other skills are as mediocre as my manners,” she admitted. “I think he oversold my talents.”

“I will hold out hope that your skill in painting and singing match your skill in riding and embroidery,” Ferdinand told her, smiling. “After all, imagine if I had discounted you for your sidesaddle. We would never have had this run through the park.”

“You are very kind to me,” Bernadetta conceded.

“Surely you noticed, too,” her husband said. “My Marzipanstollen was entirely unable to catch up to your mount.”

Bernie shrunk in on herself. “I can try to slow him down next time,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to outpace you.” Had she? She could barely remember; the exhilaration of being on an open green with a spirited horse had been almost overwhelming.

“Please do not,” Mr. Aegir said, and he was smiling, still entirely good-natured. “It would be a great blight never to see you ride so passionately again. The world would be poorer for it.”

Anything she did was novel to him, but she couldn’t help feeling that he would grow tired of this. Tired of complimenting her for doing better than him, tired of being shown up by his own wife. He would grow to resent her.

She resolved to ride more carefully in the future.

“Now, would you like to walk a bit, or go back?” Mr. Aegir asked. He jumped a bit and said, “Oh! To clarify: I mean that sincerely, as a question. I will enjoy either option.”

Bernie didn’t really want to walk with her husband. But, when she thought of his father’s crowded house, she knew she didn’t want to go back there, either. So she said, "I think I would prefer to walk," but waited to dismount until her husband did.

"A fine choice," Mr. Aegir declared, and quickly dismounted, so Bernie followed suit. She was going to ask about something agreeable -- Gloucester, or opera, or tea -- but her husband saw she was on the ground and said, "I would very much like to know more about you. For example, why are pitcher plants one of your favorites?"

She didn't even have to think. It was such a good question that she was shocked into saying, "Because they're so cute," not even thinking about what a "normal" response would sound like.

"They did look very round and leafy in your embroidery," Mr. Aegir agreed. "What are some of your favorite things about them?"

"The roundness, but also the color," she told him readily. "They come in all shades of green, red, and purple, and some of them have these very pretty spots. And they eat bugs! And I mostly don't like bugs, so I like the idea of them being used to make the plants happy. And I also like the idea of plants that eat, like us, like something in between a houseplant and a pet. I suppose that sounds very strange. Oh, Bernie, you're oversharing again." She balled her hands into fists and pressed them against her head, embarrassed. "No one wants to hear about that. You can't just--"

"Mrs. Aegir!" Someone grabbed her wrists, and she looked up and saw it was her husband, looming tall and intimidating over her. He frowned at her, probably mad. "I must insist you stop insulting yourself." He pulled her hands down, away from her face. Right. She was his property now; of course he'd be upset if it looked like she was hurting herself, even if the pressure from her knuckles on her forehead helped her think. "I found your account very interesting. If there is anything else you love about them, I would be delighted to listen."

Bernadetta fiddled with the hem of her jacket. "I… find it interesting how they have no mouth or throat, but they've figured out an entirely different mechanism for swallowing, where they depend on the bugs trying to move instead of moving, themselves. Oh, but if you've heard of flytraps, those do move! They snap shut when something lands on them! I love to watch it, but I feel it would be mean to make them work so hard for no dinner, so sometimes I bring them little bits of meat to drop on them when I want to see them snap shut. And you might expect that a plant that depends on flies and bugs for fertilizer would live in very poor soil, but most of them are tropical and live in very humid environments with lots of other plants growing around them. Just, because there are all those other plants, there are lots of bugs, as well, so they eat them as… A snack, I guess, since most of them can survive just fine without it." Was that enough information? Was it too much? What if Mr. Aegir had asked her to tell him about them so she could get it out of her system and he'd never have to hear about it again?

"What do flytraps look like?" her husband asked, seeming strangely unbothered by the way she was droning on.

Bernie looped her horse’s lead around her wrist so she could hold her hands like a flytrap: touching at the wrists, with her fingers loosely curled. “They look like this when they’re open,” she said. “And then they…” She snapped her hands shut, her fingers intertwining. “But they’re small, about two centimeters across, and green on the outside and red inside. They have a very fruity look to them.”

“To make the bugs think they are fruit, I suppose,” Mr. Aegir suggested.

“Yes, exactly. It’s the same reason pitcher plants have such bright colors. But it looks very attractive, and delicate in its own way.” She heard her voice shrink down as she admitted, “Flowers always seemed too delicate to me.”

“Ah… I am afraid there will be no end of flowers to look at in Gloucester,” her husband told her. “Lorenz’ family breeds famously beautiful roses, and one cannot visit without getting a full tour of the gardens.” Did he… actually sound regretful? About walking together in a garden? “I can do my best to keep you from a repetitive experience, but it gives Lady Gloucester great joy to show off her blooms, and it  _ is _ the season for roses. Perhaps we could walk on the green, or the edge of the forest, after?”

“I don’t mind looking at them,” Bernie told him. Her husband was almost painfully considerate, but how long would he stay that way? “I just don’t like to care for them. I don’t think they suit me.” There were a few flowers, natives of Varley, that had a hardy, sometimes even waxy look, and they didn’t look out of place on her, but they were generally thought of as ugly, and her parents scolded her when she wore them in her hair. It wasn’t her fault that she’d never been pretty, and it wasn’t the flowers’ faults, either.

"What, no flowers at all?" her husband asked. "Why, even I wear a buttonhole, and I get so brash sometimes that it gets destroyed by the end of the day."

"Yes, but you look very elegant," Bernadetta countered. "You're very pretty now, and I think you'll grow to be very handsome. I have always been plain."

They walked on for a few paces before her husband said, "I do not think it a virtue to lie to a lady." She looked at him for a few moments, and he added, "If I did find you plain, of course I would be kind about it. I could say it was no barrier for my affection, or that it did not matter in the larger scheme of things. And, if I did say those things, they would be true. I do my best not to be shallow, and there would be no purpose in insulting a woman I had already wed." He breathed in deeply. "But I find your features very fine. There is a breathtaking delicacy about you, Mrs. Aegir. I would despair to think you took my words as empty compliments when I say them truthfully."

"Yours is an uncommon opinion," Bernie told him. "Anyway, I'm sure Lady Gloucester will look beautiful in among her roses. I'll look forward to seeing them."

"I hear there are extensive greenhouses at Garreg Mach.,” Mr. Aegir told her conversationally. “They grow fruits and vegetables, but also a great variety of beautiful things. Perhaps we can see which flowers suit you best."

"Oh, is Garreg Mach near Gloucester?" Bernadetta asked. "I could have sworn the city there was on the opposite side of the territory from that border, and the road to the monastery craggy on all sides." Did she have her maps all mixed up? They certainly shared a border, but was it easy to cross?

"Did nobody tell you?" The concern in Mr. Aegir's tone was so obvious, Bernadetta looked up. "Did your father tell you nothing at all about me?"

"I had your letters," she pointed out. "Most of what I know, I learned from them." Was that not enough? Why were they going to Garreg Mach? Was her husband going to become an officer?

"I am attending the Officers' Academy starting in the Fall," her husband told her. "I thought that was part of the rush for us to wed, or at least, my father said it was. They wanted us to have some time together before we had to pick up and move."

"Both of us?" Bernadetta clarified.

Her husband looked a little pained. "Well, I would hardly force you to go, but from what I know of you and of Garreg Mach, you may prefer it there. The town is small, and I will be out most days, working on my studies. You would have more privacy."

A thought occurred to Bernadetta that made sense of some of their conflict the previous day. In fact, it made much more sense than their conversation after breakfast. "Are you planning not to bed me before we go so I'll have to follow you?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Is that why you refused to do it yesterday? Because you wanted some bait to bring me along after you? That's a very clever move, but I--"

"Mrs. Aegir, I told you not moments ago that I will not lie to you," Mr. Aegir interrupted. "And that I  _ did  _ not. I lost my nerve. There is no larger scheme."

"I cannot be sent back to my parents," she told him. Her eyes stung just thinking of it. "I don't know how to be an acceptable wife to you, but if you tell me, I'll do it."

"Mrs. Aegir, you are more than acceptable," her husband told her. "I have already married you for the world to see. Is that why you have been so upset? You think I would send you back to your family because of my own cowardice?"

"There are many reasons a man might lose his nerve," Bernadetta pointed out. "If my actions were part of the reason, I would like to know how to act to make it easier."

"No, you were very enthusiastic," Mr. Aegir told her. "And very knowledgeable. You created no barrier to our consummation. And yet… Did I see some relief on your face when I decided not to proceed? Or did I imagine it to comfort myself?"

She couldn’t imagine how that would be relevant. Her feelings about consummation weren’t nearly as strong as her feelings about being sent home to her father, and besides, bedding her was Mr. Aegir’s right as her husband. She wanted to say: I will be relieved when we are no longer half married. She actually said: “Of course, as your wife, I share your desires.”

He looked upset. He was frowning, and glanced nervously away from her, and it was all her fault, and--

“Is that how your mother speaks to your father?”

She couldn’t gauge his voice. She couldn’t tell from his solemn tone if he was angry, or sad, or something else entirely.

“It is only proper for a wife to speak to her husband with some amount of deference,” she reminded him. Someday, the facade would begin to crack and she would be unsatisfactory to him, much worse than she already was. In the meantime, she could do her best to complete the marriage contract and secure Varley’s alliance with Aegir.

"It provides peace in the household," Mr. Aegir agreed. Or, she thought he agreed. But then he said, "Only, my desire is not for a marriage that stays peaceful because you hold your tongue around me. It is my wish to learn about your passions, your talents. I do not hope for a marriage wherein peace is maintained by you pretending to be less than you are."

Her husband was sweet and naive. She supposed it was better than being cruel and jaded. She wasn't sure Mr. Aegir understood that, if she yielded less to him, he would have to yield to her sometimes. Once he realized, he would change his opinion.

She said, "You are very kind, Mr. Aegir" and hoped she could learn to be more subtle. She decided to distract him with, "I have told you about my plants. Now it only seems right for you to tell me about your teas. What excites you about them?"

They talked, thankfully, about agreeable things for the rest of their walk: Mr. Aegir's teas and tea sets, Bernadetta's drawing and the beautiful pens she'd received from him, the box Mr. Aegir had reserved at the opera house later that week. When they mounted their horses again, they raced back through the park, much less rushed this time, and Bernadetta almost brought herself to tease her husband while she was ahead of him.

She slowed her mount a bit as they neared the end of the park, with the result being that Ferdinand came out just ahead of her. He declared it unfortunate that her horse had less stamina, and then petted and praised his mare for her excellent performance as they began the trip back through the city.

“We could also go see a glassblower,” he offered. “The one who made your pens, even. Their studios are large because of the heat, and they usually let people watch.”

“Oh… I-I-I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Bernie told him. She didn’t want to go to his crowded house, where it sounded like there would be an onslaught of people, but she didn’t want to meet strangers, either. Just talking with her husband, alone, had exhausted her. “I think I’d prefer to go home.”

Mr. Aegir nodded and they continued on. Several seconds of awkward silence later, he asked, “Are you enjoying the bustle of the city? Or, do you think you might come to enjoy it, after an adjustment period?”

“Enbarr is certainly very beautiful,” Bernadetta said, careful not to give away too much of her own feelings.

“Oh, the most beautiful. And I hope you will be able to continue to discover its beauty. But are you enjoying it, Mrs. Aegir?”

“I have only been here a week, and I've been inside for most of it,” Bernadetta said to avoid answering the question.

“Ah, of course. Then I suppose it is my duty to ensure you continue to enjoy Enbarr’s charms as you adjust to life here.”

Bernie said, “I would appreciate that,” even though she barely even wanted to think about spending time with her husband, let alone going out in public.

They continued in silence, but her husband looked happy. She supposed he enjoyed having a purpose. He seemed to have boundless energy and patience, and her stomach turned when she thought of that energy being focused on her. She continued smiling gently.

When they returned to the Aegir household, the stablehand who took their horses said the Varley women were waiting for them in the parlor. Bernie would have preferred to rub her horse down instead of having to see Mother, but Mr. Aegir seemed very enthusiastic about meeting her family, so she let him guide her to the parlor.

Mother, Ellie, and Sandy were sitting on two couches, already chatting about the Saint Cethleann Day festival coming up. Mother stood when Bernie and her husband came in, and Bernie’s sisters followed suit.

“Mr. Aegir, how nice to see you,” Mother said. “We thought we would just check in on our Bernadetta now that the wedding is over. We only plan to be in town for a few more days.”

“Ah, of course,” Mr. Aegir said. “Forgive me; I met all of you yesterday, but I met a great many people yesterday.”

Bernie knew how to do this part, at least. “My mother is the Countess Varley, and these are my sisters, Eleonora and Melissandre.” Each of them nodded as she said their names. Then all five of them sat down together.

“You have beautiful daughters, my lady,” Mr. Aegir told Mother. “I apologize that Mrs. Aegir and I did not know to expect you, but I am certainly glad I was able to learn what an accomplished rider she is so I could praise her in front of you.”

Mother, always skilled at conversation, barely startled before saying, “Yes, all of my girls enjoy the spacious countryside in Varley. I am glad to learn she has a husband who enjoys the same activities.”

Mr. Aegir nodded and said, “I look forward to riding with her more in Gloucester. I have already written to my friend Lorenz -- my groomsman yesterday -- to arrange a honeymoon there. Lord and Lady Gloucester do enjoy having guests.”

“Oh, he was very nice,” Ellie said. “We chatted a bit yesterday, while you were-- We chatted a bit yesterday.”

“Oh, good,” Mr. Aegir said. “It is always nice to learn that your friends get along with your new family. He will be joining me at the Officers’ Academy in the Fall.”

“Oh, you plan to become an officer?” Mother asked. “Will you be taking Bernadetta with you to Garreg Mach?”

“Naturally, unless she falls in love with Enbarr this summer. But I hope to have the pleasure of exploring both the town and the mountains with her.”

“How are you planning to do that?” Sandy asked, and Bernie cringed and hoped her husband didn’t see.

“Melissandre,” their mother snapped.

Sandy shrugged. “I’m just saying: you can’t exactly explore a mountain when you spend all your time holed up in your room.”

Mr. Aegir was still calm and smiling as he said, “Naturally, everyone has different amounts of excitement that they enjoy. Even if it means taking a bit longer to explore the area, you have my word I will keep your sister in safety and comfort at Garreg Mach. It would hardly do for me to upset her in an attempt to help her feel comfortable in a new setting, now would it?” He reached down and took Bernie’s hand in his, and she looked down, ashamed of her own transparency.

“Now, girls. We hardly came here to insult your sister; we came here to check in on her.” Mother looked right at her and asked, “How have you been, Bernadetta? Did you sleep well last night?”

“Very well, thank you,” Bernie said, hoping her husband wouldn’t mention that she had slept alone. “It would be difficult not to sleep after such a busy day.”

“And no lasting pain? I know you don’t like to complain…”

“No, I am very well,” Bernie said, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Father is happy with the marriage,” Ellie told her, but she looked concerned. She looked at Mr. Aegir as she said, “Ever since the consummation, he has been saying how glad he is that you went to someone who is not afraid to show you who is in charge.”

Mother smiled at Mr. Aegir and said, “You must excuse my daughters, Mr. Aegir; Eleonora and Melissandre are young yet.”

Even Mr. Aegir was blushing at that point. He leaned forward conspiratorially, pulling up his left sleeve, and Bernadetta felt faint. He said, “If you really must know -- and this is not for your father to hear, ladies -- neither Mrs. Aegir nor I had been to enough weddings to know how much blood was expected. We were very concerned that there would not be enough, and that your sister  _ would _ be hurt if we continued forcefully.” He turned the small scab on his arm toward Bernie’s mother and sisters and said, “So I pricked myself to add to it, to ensure there would be no doubts since I had no reason to doubt her in the first place. But I overestimated, since as I said before, I have not attended a wedding since I was quite young, and was much more concerned with the available snacks than I was with the bride’s virginity. Frankly, if you were to test the handkerchief, it would be more likely to show my crest than Mrs. Aegir’s, but since her virginity was already obvious, I could not allow her to fall prey to any doubts.”

Sandy was staring at him wide-eyed, like she couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of faking the virginal blood. Or, perhaps, like she couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of a man being kind and protective. Bernie was still working on that, too.

Eleonora nodded solemnly, as if approving of Mr. Aegir was her responsibility.

Mother smiled at him with the same tactful serenity she always seemed to have and said, “That is very reassuring to hear. You seem a very caring young man, Mr. Aegir.”

“I do my best,” Mr. Aegir assured her. “I would not want the story to spread, since it is somewhat embarrassing, but I was horrified when I realized it looked like I had hurt my own wife. And on our wedding night, no less. From what I can gather, Count Varley would not be impressed by the real story, but the three of you clearly care a great deal for my wife’s well-being and I would not want you to think I was the brute I seemed to be yesterday.”

Before she could process the sound of her sister getting up, Bernie was pressed against the couch by Eleonora’s warm weight. She reflexively hugged her sister back, her hand landing on Ellie’s back over her mass of steel blue hair. Ellie had always been prone to sudden, decisive fits of emotion.

“I am so happy for you, Bernie,” Ellie said into her ear. “I really am. I never expected Father would find you a husband who would have only kind things to say about you, but he managed it. And with you being so spirited! I truly feel you will be safe here.”

This might be her last chance to talk to Eleonora in person. That was what was happening: Ellie was saying goodbye. She, Sandy, and Mother would go back to Varley, and Bernie would be alone in Enbarr with her husband, his father’s household, and her own father looming in the city house, not ten minutes’ walk away.

“You’ll be such a good heiress,” Bernie told her sister, and meant it. “You’re better than I ever was at the accounts, and you care so much. Varley will prosper under you.” She let go of her husband’s hand to hug her sister with both arms.

As soon as Ellie backed away, Sandy took her place. She didn’t say anything, just hugged Bernie tight. “You know I love you, right? So much,” she said, and Sandy nodded and kept holding her.

“Lady Varley, do you think the three of you will have time in the next few days to visit? I would like to ensure your daughters have as much time as they need to say goodbye. We could even see the opera on Wednesday night -- I have a box reserved, and it would be no trouble to fit five or six people in. A friend of mine will be performing in  _ The Magic Flute,  _ her first leading role, and she says it will be great fun.”

Sandy backed up and returned to her seat. Mother’s smile froze on her face and she asked, “Do you enjoy spending time with artists, Mr. Aegir?”

“Of course!” Bernie’s husband said, as if he couldn’t notice the looming threat of Mother pointing out that commoners were beneath him. “I have a deep appreciation for the arts, so meeting the people responsible for bringing an opera to life, or for sculpting a glass pen, is always a joy. Dorothea Arnault is not only this generation’s foremost up-and-coming soprano, but a very boisterous and friendly young woman. I have heard Bernadetta is musical, so perhaps they will come to enjoy each other’s company. Above anything, I would like my wife to become comfortable with the great variety of people you can meet in the city.”

“And it doesn’t worry you that they’re commoners?” Sandy asked, making a face.

“Why should it?” Mr. Aegir asked calmly. “What impact would that have on me? I stand to inherit a wealthy duchy as well as my father’s title; if I feel it more personal to meet the people who make my artisan goods or entertain me for an evening, I see no reason not to do that. I find it helps me learn to ask more informed questions, and people enjoy discussing things they have worked hard on.”

Mother was frowning. She was frowning at  _ Bernadetta’s husband _ . Oh, this was  _ bad _ . “They do tend to mooch, rather,” she said. “We try to keep our association with them to financial matters and, of course, the obligatory public festivals.”

Mr. Aegir shrugged like his mother-in-law hadn’t just said his lifestyle was unacceptable. “It has long been my understanding that the ability to levy fair taxes on your land comes from having accurate insights into your people’s lives and desires. It only seems right, while my money comes from the people living on my land, to take an interest in how they live their lives.”

Bernie expected Mother to put her foot down, but before she could, Ellie asked, “Are your people taking an interest in children’s education the way the people in Varley are?”

Mr. Aegir’s face lit up and Bernie felt her heart rate jump. Mother was going to  _ hate  _ him.

“I have actually been discussing that topic with my tutor recently,” he said, chirpy as ever. “It is actually an excellent example of my point. I am sure you know the traditional model, where children help with the harvest in the early fall and then the grain sales help to fund their education -- by anyone who comes through and has enough letters and numbers to teach them -- in the winter. Because the money already comes from agriculture, the way to convince your people of the necessity of the taxes is: you formerly put this money into a fund to hire whoever came through, but now the same proportion of money will be going to a teacher who has been vetted before going to your town. Especially when you first levy a tax, it is very good to be able to show that the amount of money they will actually spend will either stay the same or be reduced. For special taxes and services, that is the most agreeable system for all parties. You make them feel you have taken the burden from their shoulders and onto yours, and technically you have, and in the meantime everybody receives a higher quality education and puts their knowledge back into the way your land is managed for the benefit of your descendants.”

“That is quite an involved style of land management,” Mother pointed out. “Do you expect to have time to collect that sort of information, let alone interview teachers, while also fulfilling your duties as Prime Minister?”

Bernie expected the answer to be a rueful, elaborate “no.” She did not expect her husband to say, “My father is not a strong proponent of active land management, and I get the feeling that would be true whether he was Prime Minister or not. When he retires, I will have to see whether I am able to collect that level of detail on my own, or whether I will need to deputize somebody already working in a leadership role on my land. I do hope I will at least be able to attend the Aegir Fair every Fall, like when I was a child. It will be a great pleasure to show Bernadetta the beauty and bounty of her land.”

“You are a very enthusiastic young man,” Mother said, which felt to Bernadetta like the cat moving in for the kill after cornering its prey. Predictably, her husband preened under the praise. “What is your understanding of the Insurrection of the Seven?”

Mr. Aegir paused, considering the question. Then he looked right at Mother and said, “All power must be checked. My father’s power over the way Aegir’s money is handled is checked by the ability of our people to come to Enbarr and take our heads, crests or no crests. I believe Emperor Ionius forgot that House Hresvelg also has obligations, and that those obligations are to much better armed subjects. Some ground rules were put in place that had not been necessary before, but surely, if Princess Edelgard’s goal is to be a just and sensible ruler, she will not mind the fact that there are some things that no one person is allowed to do anymore.”

“So you see it as a natural result of the Emperor’s power, even though the Hresvelg line has ruled Adrestia for over a thousand years?” Mother asked. Bernadetta felt ill. She didn’t know what she could do except sit in place; she had no way to help her husband navigate this.

“I think it is no coincidence that the Insurrection happened after three years of drought,” Mr. Aegir said, and he sounded almost as stern as Mother. “I think, had the Insurrection not happened, the people in our lands would have looked at their dwindling food stocks and the tributes being sent to the troops on the border, and we would have had a larger and more violent revolt on our hands. I wonder why you are questioning me so intently when my own father was one of the leaders of the Insurrection. If there is something about the new distribution of power that is unsatisfactory to Varley, I would remind you that I was nine years old when it happened, just like your Bernadetta; I had no more impact on the way it played out than she did.”

“I only want to ensure there will be no conflicts between you and Eleonora’s future husband; I would hate for my daughters to be at odds when the titles are passed down,” Mother said, but Bernie knew the truth. Mother wanted to ensure that Father’s power would be passed down to Varley’s descendents, and not turned over to Princess Edelgard when she took over from her father. And it wouldn’t even matter after the marriage unless she had at least a suspicion that Bernie and her husband hadn’t consummated yet.

“I apologize, Lady Varley, Miss Eleonora, Miss Melissandre. Bernadetta and I had quite a tiring day yesterday, and perhaps have not rested adequately. I must attend to my wife, but please know that I will always be a friend and ally to all of you. If you would like to visit again, write me before you leave town and I will ensure we are all able to meet.” He stood, and so did Bernie’s sisters and mother, and she realized belatedly that she needed to stand, too. Her husband smiled and bowed to Bernie’s family, and politely showed them out to the front hall, Bernadetta trailing awkwardly behind him.

They returned to the parlor and her husband all but pushed her back onto a couch. He asked, “What do you need, Mrs. Aegir? What is wrong?”

He looked so concerned. Why did he look upset? Bernie looked down out of habit. Her voice cracked as she said, “I am well.” She felt lightheaded. She felt ill.

“You are shaking, Mrs. Aegir. You are shaking so badly, your sisters were giving me looks. Perhaps some tea would help? You prefer fruity blends, right?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Aegir,” Bernie said. Almost yelled, really. “I didn’t tell you about my mother and how she gets, so really, I’m the reason you talked back to her so much. I’ll make sure to write to her and tell her that it was all on me! I wouldn’t want us to start our marriage with you seeming rude--”

“Mrs. Aegir!”

“--and I’ll make sure she isn’t mad at Ellie, either. Ellie’s always been curious. And it’s only normal for a younger person to be a little idealistic, right? So, if you have slightly different goals than our fathers, of course they’ll be mellowed with time--”

“Mrs. Aegir, what on Earth are you talking about?” Ohhhh, her husband looked upset. He looked angry.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Really, I am! I know I should have warned you, but I didn’t think my parents would visit so soon, I promise! I’m so sorry for making you angry!”

“Why should I be angry? Mrs. Aegir, you are shaking more violently than before. Do you need to lie down?” He put a hand on her shoulder and she screamed from nerves. He quickly withdrew his hand.

“Of course you’re angry! Why wouldn’t you be? I did nothing to prepare you to meet my mother, and my sisters were so rude you had to tell them about the blood, and now you contradicted Mother-- oh, Goddess, you contradicted Mother to her face, I’m going to be in  _ so much trouble--” _

“Begging your pardons, is everything okay in here?” someone asked from the door. “I heard screaming.”

Mr. Aegir turned around and sounded completely serene as he said, “Mrs. Aegir is a bit upset after bidding farewell to her family. Could you have tea sent as quickly as possible? I think that berry blend will do nicely.”

Bernie couldn’t breathe properly. Her breath came in huge gasps and she didn’t know why. She knew what Father would do to her for speaking back to Mother like that, but what would Mr. Aegir do? She couldn’t lash out at him, not with their marriage unconsummated; everything was riding on her being successfully married to the son of the Duke of Aegir. She had certainly earned  _ some  _ sort of punishment for the first meeting between Mother and her husband going badly, but she was completely disoriented without knowing what he was likely to do when he was mad at her. “I really am sorry,” she said, staring at her own knees. “I’ll be sure to smooth everything over for you. I never meant to humiliate you like that. Stupid Bernie!

“Mrs. Aegir, please breathe.” Her husband knelt in front of her like he had that morning. He held her hand loosely in his. “The conversation went well. I did establish that I am not a pushover, but I was never rude to her and she was never rude to me.”

He was being kind, but it wouldn’t be long until his real feelings came out. “It was my responsibility to… prepare you to meet my family. I understand why you’re so upset; it wasn’t even a big responsibility, and I didn’t fulfill it.” She felt lightheaded. Her breathing refused to return to normal.

“Mrs. Aegir, you are mistaken on many counts. I am not angry, I do not feel embarrassed, and if I did, it would not be your fault.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am quite worried, though. I have never witnessed a fit of nerves like this. Do you have any customs that help?”

“Whatever you’re going to do to me, please just do it,” Bernie requested. “I have never been good at waiting in suspense.”

“ _ Do _ to you? Mrs. Aegir, who do you think I am?” Suddenly, her hand was on the cold sofa instead of held in his larger, warm hand, and her husband was standing halfway across the room. Bernie’s head swam trying to keep up with his words. “My only intent is to comfort you, since you are so clearly upset.”

He didn't seem the type to tie her to a chair. Perhaps he was the type who liked to hit? She would be lucky if he only lashed out with words for now. "I-I-I-I'm fine," Bernie told him. "Don't worry about me. I just feel so bad that-- that you had to weather such difficult questions without any preparation. It was… It was all my fault." She could feel herself shaking, now.

"Your mother was certainly testing boundaries," Mr. Aegir said, without considering the somersaults Bernie's heart did when she heard those words, "Which means only that she knows I will push back on moral topics, instead of being a mirror to whoever I am currently talking to. That is perfectly normal. If she goes crying to your father because a teenager said he believes his people know best how their own lives are lived, I shall be quite shocked."

"What-- w-what do you think she'll do?" Bernie asked. Did he not understand that Mother wielded power like a striking hammer, precise and ruthless? Most of the times Bernadetta had gotten in trouble, by the time she realized she had screwed up her fate had been sealed.

"What, to the Duke of Aegir's heir in the Duke of Aegir's household? Why, nothing at all. Are you suggesting she was angling for a dispute? We do not even share a border. It would be positively silly. What influence does the Countess of Varley hold over the children of the Duke of Aegir? If she… If your mother used to hurt you for talking back to her, I hope I can make it clear to you that you no longer live with her. You live with me, and I consider it my duty as your husband to keep you safe." He sat on the couch cat-corner from her. "I am Ferdinand von Aegir. How would I glorify my name by hurting my wife?"

Bernie finally gained some control over her breathing. Her chest heaved still, but she felt like she was getting her wind back. Even she could tell she was shivering worse than before, but she was finally starting to feel better.

“I fear I am making things worse. Should I leave you in peace? Would you like me to return you to our room instead? Miss Melissandre implied you enjoy time alone. I can have the tea sent to our room instead.”

Bernie nodded and stood to take his arm when he offered it. They paraded slowly through the front hall toward the stairs. Mr. Aegir had a very long fuse, but she wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable until she knew what his limits were so she could avoid them.

Sharp, two-part footsteps, like riding boots, clicked toward them. From across the room, a woman asked, “Ferdie, what on Earth are you doing to your new wife to make her  _ scream _ ?”

Ferdie’s arm stiffened and they stopped walking. “Ah, Marla! Bernadetta, this is my cousin, Marla v--”

“Marla von Bergliez,” the woman said, and walked into Bernie’s view. She had fiery red hair and hefted a baby on one shoulder, and she wore green and light blue, which looked very refreshing in the summer heat. She stuck a hand out as if to shake hands. “We met yesterday, but you met everybody yesterday.”

Bernie shook her hand and promptly dissolved into tears. It was embarrassing, in front of someone she barely knew, but she’d spent all of yesterday getting married, and all that morning riding, and now Mother hated her husband, and--

“Oh, you poor thing. Transitions are so difficult, aren’t they?” Mrs. Bergliez asked. She drew back and took the tea towel off her shoulder and laid it over Ferdinand’s, instead. “Ferdie, you take Klaus for a few minutes and I’ll help Mrs. Aegir,” she said as she turned her baby toward Mr. Aegir. He took the baby readily on his shoulder, like he had experience in it. “I’ll find you in the parlor later,” she said over her shoulder as she took Bernie’s hand in one of hers and put an arm around her back.

“W-we were… on our way to our room,” Bernie said through her tears.

“Then, by all means, let’s get you there,” Ferdinand’s cousin said, and walked with her up the stairs. She went at the same slow, shuffling pace as Bernie, and Bernadetta was grateful for that, especially as they climbed the stairs. “I’m inviting myself in,” she said when they reached the door. “Just thought you might want to chat.”

“Oh… No, not really,” Bernie admitted, but then she was being walked into her room with no ability to keep the other woman out politely.

“I know I’m not being subtle,” Mrs. Bergliez admitted when the door was closed, “But I hope you understand why I’d be concerned, what with everything that happened yesterday, and you and Ferdie not coming down to breakfast this morning, and the screaming. If he’s been acting untoward to you…”

“No! Oh, goodness, no; of course not!” Bernie protested. “Mr. Aegir has only been gentlemanly. I’m the one who’s… like this.” She nodded to Mrs. Bergliez and said, “Thank you for walking me up. And for checking up on me. But I really am just terribly shy. I need a lot of time alone in my room. Mr. Aegir really was just walking me up.”

Mrs. Bergliez gave her the kind of pitying look Mother used to, when Father used to take charge of her marital education. “Mrs. Aegir… Please understand, if Ferdie is mistreating you in any way, it’s only going to get worse if you stay quiet. If you don’t feel safe with him, it’s important to tell someone immediately. My marriage was arranged, too, and I understand wanting to make everyone proud, but if you need someone from his family to yell at him for you, my husband and I will be here for a couple more weeks.” She grinned and added, “Living in Bergliez, I’ve certainly learned how to put the fear of the Goddess into pompous men!”

Bernie was mostly not crying anymore. It was easier to collect her thoughts this way. “Ferdinand is more considerate than any man I’ve met,” she said. “I just need to lie down for a while.”

“Hm… Do you think you could join my husband and me for lunch?” Mrs. Bergliez asked. “Quarter of one or so? That should give you plenty of time to rest.”

Who was she? Mr. Aegir had introduced her as his “cousin,” which could mean anything, but she’d called him Ferdie and pushed her baby into his arms without question, so they were probably… close? But she wouldn’t be in Enbarr much longer. So maybe she’d lived in Enbarr before, or they were penpals? Would Mr. Aegir like her making lunch plans on his behalf?

“I… will have to see how I feel,” Bernie admitted. “Sometimes, I take a while to recover. And I don’t know if Mr. Aegir has plans.”

“I’ll let you rest, then,” Mrs. Bergliez conceded. Finally! “Go ahead and lie down, or whatever you need to do, and I’ll go make sure Klaus isn’t terrorizing Ferdie too badly.” She winked and left.

.-._.-._.-._

"Ferdie! Come join us!" Cousin Marla called, and waved him over to her and Oren's table.

Ferdie paused to nod to both of them before he sat down. "Thank you for inviting us. Bernadetta sends her regrets that she is still overwhelmed from yesterday and will be unable to join us. She especially sends her apologies to Klaus." He smiled and stroked the little one's arm with the back of his finger. Klaus stared distantly and disdainfully at something behind his mother's shoulder.

Oren frowned. "If she needs you there, we won't stop you."

Ferdie shook his head. He had only made things worse by going to talk to her, and trying to stay would have been a disaster. "She prefers to recover alone," he said. "And I just stopped by the kitchen to ensure lunch is sent up."

Marla and Oren traded a concerned look, and then Marla turned to him and said, "We wanted to talk about arranged marriage. How to get started, you know? So you can ease into it well. Also, goodness' sake, Ferdie, eat something; you look like you're about to shake apart." Marla nudged his plate toward him, just a bit.

Ferdie smiled. He wasn't hungry. Why wasn't he hungry in the early afternoon after riding in the morning? Bernadetta's fearful eyes and defensive tone were fresh in his mind. He felt nauseous. He smiled to cover it up. "Ah, sorry. It has been an eventful day. As I hope you understand, I am very worried about my wife."

"Oh, cut the crap, Ferdie," Oren said, with classic Bergliez brashness. "Marla's too nice to say, but we're 'worried' about her, too. Why are you locking her up for hours on her first day in your house? Why is she so upset all the time?"

Ferdinand felt as small as he'd ever felt. When news of the Insurrection reached Aegir and his governess beat him for being a crying mess in what he'd thought was his free time, he didn't feel smaller than this. "Bernadetta was very shaken earlier," he said, and he knew he was truthful, but he also knew how weak the excuse sounded on his lips. "Her custom is to rest in her bedroom. What else should I do to help? I had tea sent up for her…" He had wanted terribly to be able to sit with her, take any of her pain onto his own shoulders, but she had requested privacy and he was giving it to her.

"So, one thing we were going to discuss was how important it is to meet in the middle when you come to a problem," Marla told him. "What has Bernadetta so upset?"

Ferdie ducked his head. "I am not quite certain," he admitted. "Her mother and sisters visited, which I was sure must be good, but then she was shaking, so we bid them farewell, and after they left, she seemed certain her mother was upset with me and there would be some sort of… consequences? All I did was discuss special taxes with her. I even defended the Insurrection even though I really think it was brash and shamefully executed. Lady Varley is my mother-in-law; of course I was kind to her!" He would never insult his family, and even tended to tread carefully about the Insurrection around his father, and he still didn't understand why Bernadetta had been so upset.

Marla and Oren shared a look. Oren put a hand on Ferdie's shoulder and said, "Look. Ferdinand. Women don't just start crying and lock themselves up for hours out of nowhere. She's only been here two days, so we're not saying it's something you did, but what's going on?"

"It did not seem polite to pry," Ferdie told him. "I could only offer conjecture, and I would hate to start rumors. I only hope I can make her life here comfortable enough that she feels she can confide in me." She had told him her role was obedience, but surely she saw that he was not the sort to ask for obedience in all things.

"You need to talk to her, Ferdie," Marla told him, and her voice wasn't unkind. "You need to tell her what to expect. From you, from your father, from the household…"

"I tried," Ferdie protested. "I tried just this morning, but I am not a terribly effective communicator. Or it will take more time for her to believe me. I am not entirely certain what I can do except respect the privacy of her feelings and allow her to distance herself from me when she feels uncomfortable.” What could he do except keep trying to show his respect for her?

Marla nodded and said, “Oooookay, that explains enough.” She turned toward him a bit, difficult to do with a baby on her shoulder, and said, “Ferdie, you don’t have to be some kind of martyr. Whatever’s going on, it probably isn’t about you, anyway. Just come spend some time with us when Bernadetta feels better, okay? I don't want either of you to feel like you're alone with these big problems."

"Goddess, do you have to make that face?" Oren asked. "You look like you're gonna cry. Don't tell me you show Mrs. Aegir that face."

"I feel ill," Ferdinand told them. He felt on the verge of tears. He felt nauseous, still. "I think yesterday's events are catching up with me, as well. I have been anxious all month about marrying her properly, and now that it is done, I am exhausted." He nodded to both of them. "Thank you both for your concern. I am very glad Mrs. Aegir has so many people looking out for her." He stood and tried to take a deep breath. "I will bring her to you when we both feel better."

He walked from the table as quickly as he could, back inside, back to the room he'd slept in the previous night. His face burned from embarrassment. It took all his effort not to cry, but he somehow managed it.

All he'd wanted to do was leave a good impression of Bernie in his cousins' minds. Instead, he'd gone to a lunch he didn't eat, talked about things beyond his control, and gotten no helpful advice whatsoever for how to help Bernadetta. Marla and Oren had always been kind and friendly; what sort of questions and concerns would he have to field from his relatives who liked him less?

.-._.-._.-._

By Wednesday evening, Bernadetta was starting to feel a little bit better.

Ferdinand, despite being her husband, hadn't insisted on sleeping with her at night, and he let her take meals in her room when she was too upset to go downstairs. As much as she worried because he hadn't consummated their marriage, she could also see that he was planning to honor their marriage for the time being, planning their trip to Gloucester and taking her to the opera. He even took the time, that morning, to explain what the opera house was like so she knew what to expect. It sounded like an onslaught of unfamiliar people and overdecorated scenery, an assault on the senses, but it was one of the few things Ferdinand had asked of her and she wanted him to know he could rely on her.

She even invited him back into their room to dress for the occasion together. She hoped that the sight of her in her shift, pulling her stockings up to her thighs and gartering them, would excite him to action, but instead he smiled cheerfully and told her to ask if she needed help, and then turned around and saw to his own clothes. (He cut an extremely handsome figure in his breeches and shirt. She could really see how his shoulders tapered to his waist.)

He presented her with his mother's opera glasses. They were covered in stamped blue leather that almost reminded Bernie of Eleanora's hair. "I spoke with my father. We want you to have them," Ferdinand told her as she turned them over and over in her hands. "My mother died when I was very young, and I do not remember much about her, so I hope we can make new memories with this remembrance of hers."

"I am very honored that you want me to have them," Bernie said. She wasn't certain she'd ever learned how to accept such a sentimental gift. "I will make good use of them at the opera tonight." She tucked the glasses into her purse.

They ate at home and then headed to the opera. Ferdinand had a very strange habit of asking to kiss her, but Bernie always said yes. He kissed her mouth and her hand in the carriage, very chastely.

Then they arrived, and Ferdinand jumped out of his father's carriage and offered his arm to Bernadetta so she could do the same. When they were inside, he pointed out architectural features until he caught on that she wasn't that interested, then led her up the stairs to the box floor.

Bernie wished she'd feigned more interest in the architecture.

People milled about in their finest clothes, chatting and drinking, and Bernadetta had never felt more like an outsider. She said a quick "I am Bernadetta von Aegir" under her breath to remind herself that she was the wife of the Prime Minister's heir and she did, in fact, belong in Enbarr high society.

The worst part of the whole ordeal was that Ferdinand did not take her directly to their box so they could talk in private; he paraded her about through all the chatting groups of people, introducing her to at least twenty people before someone called that the opera was starting in five minutes and everybody disappeared into their boxes. She clung to his arm and smiled and said hello, and Ferdinand carried the conversation, but she was still glad to be seated.

"I hope that was not overwhelming," Ferdinand murmured to her when they were seated. "I just want to ensure you are properly introduced to society, so nobody thinks you a recluse."

"I am, sort of," Bernadetta pointed out. "I like spending time in my room."

"Yes, but we would not want that to be the general first impression of you," Ferdinand told her. "There were strange, vicious rumors of you before you came to Enbarr, so it is important to me that I be able to show people how sweet and unassuming you are. Show everyone my beautiful wife, with her gentle manners. That should start to straighten people out about what sort of person you are. May I kiss your cheek?"

Bernie nodded and Ferdinand kissed her, and then applause began even though nothing had happened on the stage. Bernie joined in, but was terribly confused until Ferdinand leaned over and said, "For the conductor," and she looked into the orchestra and saw their conductor was standing in front of them. He turned to the audience and bowed, and the applause died down when he turned around again and a cacophony of mismatched notes were played by the instrumentalists. That part, at least, only lasted a few seconds.

Then the music started, a cheerful tune that played for a few minutes. Ferdinand told her for the second time that day how excited he was to see this new translation of a classic opera and the bold design work it had been promised to have.

Halfway through the first act, Bernie had to admit she was enjoying the opera.

The music was lively, as were the lyrics, and she hadn't remembered from her childhood that the singers would just sing a song over if you clapped long enough.

Then, halfway through the first act, they saw the heroine for the first time and Ferdinand leaned over and told her, "That is my friend, Miss Dorothea Arnault. She managed to snag the role of Pamina even though she is our age." He was grinning with excitement.

Looking through her new opera glasses, Ferdinand's mother's opera glasses, Bernie could see that Miss Arnault was beautiful. Her voice was nearly hypnotic, rich and warm and sweet in just the way a soprano voice should be. Her hair was elegantly arranged, while Bernie's was lumpy and frizzy even on good days. She sparkled in her dress and jewelry, and moved fluidly across the stage.

And Ferdinand knew her well.

Bernie couldn’t focus on the opera. When the curtain descended for intermission, she floated through the crowd that formed outside the boxes as Ferdinand chatted with everybody and held her arm close to his body. She smiled politely as often as she remembered to. She couldn’t remember any time when she’d been in a situation where she couldn’t leave, couldn’t protest, couldn’t even cry for fear that everyone would hear and she’d ruin the whole opera.

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she couldn’t follow the show, so the sets and characters seemed to jump around with no rhyme or reason.

And then it was over. The curtain descended, the audience erupted into applause, and the next several minutes were dedicated to the cast members’ bows.

Ferdinand stood without saying anything, but was back in a moment, saying, “The singers often come by the boxes after the show. Miss Arnault has been trying to ply her patron into sending her to the Officers’ Academy, where I am headed this Fall, so perhaps there will be news.”

Bernie looked behind herself and saw that the curtain to their box was open, which must have been what Ferdinand was doing. Then Ferdinand leaned over to look down into the audience and laughed. “It looks like Lorenz is headed up, too,” he said. “His parents are all alone down there. How nice for us to meet up before Gloucester!”

“Oh… You don’t think he’ll visit someone else?” Bernie asked. Just leaving his spot didn’t mean anything. He could even have gone to use the bathroom.

“Ferdie! Ferdinand! Did I miss her?” a desperate voice asked from behind him. “Ah-- Mrs. Aegir.” Mr. Gloucester leaned down to take her hand and kissed it, said a much calmer “how very nice to see you again,” and then turned to Ferdinand and said, “Don’t tell me she’s already come by!”

Ferdinand laughed. “I think it will take more than five seconds for her to come up,” he pointed out. “Did you Warp yourself up here, or is that just the power of your stork-legs?”

“You know exactly how stunning she is,” Mr. Gloucester accused, and collapsed almost sideways into a chair.

She  _ was  _ his lover, then. Or perhaps she sold her favors. It was almost expected, for actresses.

“She is as available to you as she is to me,” Ferdinand said, bafflingly. He was shameless enough to say that in front of his wife of three days? “Or are you looking ahead to the Officers’ Academy?”

Mr. Gloucester glanced away. “It certainly would not hurt to start out at Garreg Mach with such a beautiful woman by my side. No pedigree to speak of, though.”

Ferdinand shrugged. “You are crested, though, and Liecester cares less about those things, right?”

Mr. Gloucester snorted. “Liecester? Yes, of course, since half the great households were merchants not too far back. My parents, though? Quite another story.” He frowned and asked, “Have you heard if Miss Arnault will be coming to the Academy this year? Or will it take her a bit longer?”

“I was hoping for news, myself,” Ferdinand said, and his eyes lit up, and he leaned forward a bit in his seat, and Bernie couldn’t shake the memory of the words, ‘she is as available to you as she is to me.’ “I am also very excited for Mrs. Aegir to meet her. There are many great artisans in Varley, but I have not heard of any great theatre companies.”

"Yes, we barely have troupes coming through Gloucester, and it is the center of leisure in Liecester," Lorenz agreed. "All the more reason to see the Mittelfrank while in Enbarr."

"Ooh, I wonder which of my fans I'll find in here!" a woman said from the entrance of their box. Mr. Aegir looked over, but Mr. Gloucester rushed to his feet. "Oh, my favorite newlywed! Everyone's been talking about your wedding, Ferdie; I've been  _ dying  _ to meet your bride." Miss Dorothea Arnault had swept into their box in the same dress she'd finished the show in, her hair and makeup still immaculate. Mr. Gloucester kissed her hand, and so did Mr. Aegir, when she offered it, and then she turned to Bernie. "And well worth the wait, aren't you? Oh, you're just cute as a button!" And she leaned down and kissed Bernie on both cheeks.

"Um--" Bernadetta said quietly.

"Did I not marry as well as I said I would?" Mr. Aegir asked. "I believe she could even surpass you!"

Miss Arnault pulled a fan from her belt and smacked Bernie's husband lightly on the shoulder with it. "Oh, Ferdie, you don't have to insult a girl's livelihood! Hah, just let both of us be the prettiest you've ever seen!"

"Hmmm…" Ferdinand said, with his hand on his chin. "I daresay she edges you out!" He cringed as she jokingly raised her fan and added, "Only barely!"

"I find you enchanting at all times," Mr. Gloucester admitted. "Tell me, will we both be at Garreg Mach in the Fall?"

"Oh, I have gossip for the man who knows how to give a compliment," Dorothea said, and went to pull a chair up next to Bernie, arranging her skirt around herself. "But I think I'd better sit next to the only girl in the opera house who's cuter than me." She winked at Bernie. Why was she so affectionate to Ferdinand's  _ wife? _

"The old man finally came through," Dorothea told them all, smiling and leaning forward in her seat. "I get to go to the Academy, and that isn't even my best news. Manuela Casagranda is coming, too, as one of our professors."

"An older soprano, one of the most famous from our youth," Ferdinand told Bernie, then turned to Dorothea and said, "That is just grand! What fun to be able to study together."

"Just wanted to deliver the good news," Dorothea told them. She stood and took Bernie's hand to kiss. Before Bernadetta could react, she was sweeping out of the box, saying, "I need to get a move on, though, if I want to visit everyone!"

Both men called, "Farewell!" and then it was just the three of them in the box again.

"Lorenz, you flirt!" Ferdinand accused, but he didn't seem upset. "'I am enchanted by you at all times'? You cannot say that sort of thing to her!"

"My heart overwhelmed my sense," Lorenz said dejectedly. "Anyway, you heard what she said: she will be at Garreg Mach in the fall, and unless her patron plans to expose himself by going, too, she will be available."

"I don't want to know who her patron is," Ferdinand groaned. "I hope he stays in the City for her sake, but I just… I don't want to know. It would be too much."

There was something big Bernadetta wasn't getting.

"What is Miss Arnault's relationship with her patron?" she asked, keeping her voice down in case the men wanted to continue their discussion.

"The old lout keeps her all to himself," Mr. Gloucester pouted. "We know very little beyond that. One time, an admirer sent her jewelry and had a black eye the next day. Swore it was someone sent by her patron. It may or may not have been true, but nobody has been terribly keen to find out."

"But she was flirting with you!" Bernie pointed out. "And you flirted back-- both of you!"

"I did no such thing!" Ferdinand declared, sitting up straight.

"That is simply her temperament," Mr. Gloucester reassured her. "She flirted with you, as well, if you failed to notice. All part of her charm: she makes you feel as if you were the only person in the room, does she not?”

“Then what is your relationship with her?” Bernadetta asked. “And do you not think it… Dishonorable, at least a little, to spend time with a woman who…  _ does that?” _ At least Ferdinand seemed to have been categorically excluded from keeping her as his mistress.

…At least until Autumn.

“Friendship, I hope,” Ferdinand said, looking at Mr. Gloucester, and his friend nodded in agreement. Ferdinand turned back to her and added, “She can be quite inscrutable. I am glad she will be at the Officers’ Academy, though; she has been trying to get the funds together for some time.”

Lorenz sighed dreamily and added, “My parents will be glad to hear she is free after this summer. They have wanted to have some young artists about for some time; perhaps we can host her over the winter holiday.”

“Ah, good thinking!” Ferdinand agreed. “Coming all the way back to Enbarr would be tiring, and I know your parents love guests.”

“And the way she got herself into the Academy doesn’t bother you?”

Both men looked at her. That was the trouble with Bernadetta: she was always interrupting, always asking rude questions out of turn. Ferdinand had been gracious so far, allowing her time and space, but now that she had barged into the middle of their conversation with such insensitivity to a woman he obviously wanted to bed, she would see a truer side of him.

Ferdinand smiled and blushed and said, “I try not to judge people for decisions I will never have to make. For my own tuition, the money was there; all I had to do was ask for it. Miss Arnault has worked tirelessly for years to build the reputation that brought her such a wealthy patron, and to build such a strong bond with him that he was willing to set aside the money. I cannot know what I would have done if I had been set upon by her misfortunes.”

It was fair enough to say that Bernadetta knew little of the world commoners lived in. She had by no means had an easy childhood, but she had always had food and a roof over her head and the expectation of a wealthy marriage. This, though, was the sort of thing that lent credence to her parents’ words about commoners: that they were dirty, greedy, two-faced. That they used nobles for all they were worth, and with no intent of returning the favor. Miss Arnault ran about, sleeping with her patron and, presumably, flirting with young gentlemen to secure her future.

It was time to shut her mouth, though. Miss Arnault was so beautiful that, clearly, neither man would be swayed. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them demurely and said, "I hadn't thought about it that way."

Her husband and Mr. Gloucester discussed the opera for several more minutes, both the show, itself, and people they'd seen that evening. Bernadetta had nothing to say; she'd barely had a coherent thought in her head since the first time Miss Arnault came onstage, and everyone Ferdinand had introduced her to was a complete stranger. She wanted to be home. She wanted to wear comfortable clothes instead of feeling exposed and nervous in a silk evening gown. The low neckline and expensive trims made her feel like she was impersonating a real adult. She was suddenly completely certain that something about her appearance was wrong, just completely shameful, and until she knew what it was, her best option was to try to get home. Surely, everyone was too polite to point out whatever-it-was, but who could say how many distinct ways she had embarrassed her husband that evening? She'd barely even spoken three words together, outside of the conversation with Mr. Gloucester.

"--don't you think, Mrs. Aegir?" Ferdinand asked.

"Oh-- sorry-- what did you say?" she asked. She was so embarrassed. He probably hated her.

"Did you not think the Papageno was excellent?" Ferdinand repeated. "It is usually a disappointingly small part, but his arc is very sweet, so I enjoyed seeing all the embellishments they added."

"Oh. Yes, he was very good," Bernadetta agreed. She vaguely remembered the character. Some sort of bird-man with pipes. He got married to a bird-woman at the end. She hadn't been paying attention.

Her husband and Mr. Gloucester continued their discussion without her. Her mind was swirling with thoughts about Miss Arnault, about Enbarr's high society, about how many big, public events Ferdinand was liable to take her to. She felt tired just thinking about it. Would he insist on talking to the other patrons on their way out, too? Bernie wasn't sure she could handle that. She tried to steel herself for it.

"--again for letting us spend our honeymoon there." Ferdinand covered his mouth delicately with one gloved hand as he yawned enormously. "Oh, I think all the excitement of the past few days is catching up to me; I am horribly tired all of a sudden."

"Get home, then," Mr. Gloucester encouraged. "Just be at our house on Saturday at eight in the morning, precisely, or we will set out and you'll have to catch up."

Ferdinand put a hand over one of Bernadetta's. "We will. Help me remember that until I can write it down, Mrs. Aegir: we will meet them at eight o'clock." He stood, and Bernie stood a moment later. Mr. Gloucester stood, too.

"Thank you again for all your help at the wedding," Ferdinand told his friend, and leaned forward and hugged him.

"Oh, you are exceedingly welcome!" Mr. Gloucester crowed as he clapped his friend enthusiastically on the back. "I was happy to help! And I will send your thanks along to my parents, too."

Mr. Gloucester left. Mr. Aegir yawned again and said, "Well. Would you like to head home, Mrs. Aegir?"

"Yes, please," Bernie said quietly, half-hoping her words would be lost in the general clamor of conversation around them.

Mr. Aegir pulled her hand to his lips to kiss it, and then led her out of the box.

It was even noisier in the hall. It was very disorienting; she wasn't used to crowded places. If Mr. Aegir hadn't kept a hand on the back of her shoulder, she would have been completely confused. Fortunately, it was easy to go where he guided her, and although the stairs echoed more, there was barely anybody in them except for other people going down like them.

Returning through the grand front hall, Bernadetta looked up at the gilded rosettes covering the ceiling. She didn't need to watch where she was headed with Ferdinand guiding her. Soon enough, they were walking through the elaborately carved doors and Ferdinand said he could see their carriage.

"I am sorry if you wanted to stay longer," Ferdinand told her as he sat down, and then knocked on the ceiling of the carriage. "After everything these past few days, I am suddenly exhausted."

Bernie had been tired before the opera even started, so she could hardly begrudge him that. She said, "I'm used to going to bed earlier in the evening anyway. There isn't much reason to stay up late in the country." Except for those times when anxiety seized her late into the night, she was usually asleep not long after dark. It was part of why she liked having a room to herself: all she wanted to do in the gap time between first and second sleep was sew or hum or reflect on the story she was writing, not talk to another person. Someday, she would share a room with Ferdinand and those would no longer be options, but for now, she spent her witching hours crafting adventures for the heroine of her story. It was a good distraction from the stresses of the day, and she wanted to hold onto it as long as she could.

"Bernadetta?" Ferdinand asked quietly.

"Mmh?"

"I was just wondering: since we are coming home so late, would it be… I mean, would you like to… Or: if… Never mind. It is not important."

"What's not important?" she asked. She felt tired, and a little sick, and very overwhelmed, but completely awake.

"Oh, just whether you would allow me to… Never mind. You have made your feelings clear. I do not intend to pressure you."

She had no idea what he was trying to ask, so she said, "Okay," and let the topic rest. Ferdinand didn't bother her much after that, and only with questions about her opinion of the opera. She could just agree with him, or say the part he mentioned was good, and he didn't have to know how overwhelmed she'd been with the thought of him straying. And he didn't ask to sleep in the same room as her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter: the journey to Gloucester!


	4. The Road to Gloucester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Bernadetta set out for their honeymoon and arrive at Gloucester Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is cute and fluffy as heck, but this is also the second (and final) noncon chapter. If you stop reading after "Ferdinand, despite his better interests, nodded," you should get a good idea of the tone of the scene without having to read it.

They set out just after breakfast in all the state of country nobility: the Count and Countess of Gloucester and their body servants in one carriage, and Mr. Gloucester, Mr. Aegir, and Bernadetta in another.

“Ah, it feels cooler already,” Mr. Gloucester declared when they were barely an hour outside the city gates, stretching and splaying his long limbs out across his side of the carriage. “Do you not find, Mrs. Aegir, that summers in Enbarr are just insufferable? In Gloucester, we still have roses blooming, but the flowers here are mostly wilted.”

“Oh… Um… Varley is… I mean, I was only ever raised in the mountains, and Varley is a high desert, so…”

“Ah, of course,” he said, and sat up properly again. “Your summers must be quite miserable, too.”

“Well, we don’t have the humidity,” Bernie pointed out. “But, yes, they do get very hot sometimes.”

“You mentioned the unique foliage of Varley a few days ago,” Mr. Aegir reminded her. “Gloucester is famed for its lush scenery, though I am certain they must share  _ some  _ plants. We may not want to venture up into the woods, though; I hear there are rose brambles there now.”

“We are _ fixing that!”  _ Mr. Gloucester squawked. “And, as it turns out, you can make beautiful, glossy fiber from wood roses, so expect Gloucester to be the new name in embroidery thread and faux tussah silk!”

Mr. Aegir laughed and even Bernie smiled. She breathed deeply; not only were the windows open to let in the fresh air (and keep the three of them from baking in the heat), but she was in a carriage with the two most meticulously perfumed men she’d ever met. Mr. Aegir, next to her, smelled warm and earthy, almost spicy, while Mr. Gloucester smelled not-quite-overwhelmingly of purple roses, intensely floral and fruity.

“You’ll have to give Bernadetta some of your novel new silks,” Mr. Aegir teased. “She is a very fine artist with a needle.”

“Why, you could even see it get spun, if you like,” Mr. Gloucester offered, addressing her again. “It dyes up just like linen, but the shine is like little else. The dye specialist we’re working with says it feels just like raw silk, no idea how she knows that, but the cost of embroidery materials could go down dramatically and I, at least, am very excited!”

Beside being surrounded by beautiful scents, both men were also covered in elegant tailoring with colorful artistic flourishes. Mr. Gloucester wore violet to match his hair and Mr. Aegir wore summery salmon pink. Bernadetta felt positively out of fashion in breezy yellow muslin with her own embroidery of sage flowers to match her hair. She was sure it must look clumsy and simple to their discerning eyes.

She missed home very profoundly, suddenly. She missed knowing how everything worked: fashion, conversation, and the basics of her relationships with people.

It was all too much: the heat, the heady scent of Ferdinand and of roses, and especially the feeling of their eyes and their judgement pressing in on her. She tried to hide her crying, tried to be quiet so the others could enjoy their vacation, but of course there was nowhere to hide in a carriage.

"Mrs. Aegir, are you okay?" Mr. Gloucester asked, which drew Mr. Aegir's attention just as tears started to fall.

"Mrs. Aegir, what's wrong?" her husband asked, and put an arm around her shoulders. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and then her husband knocked on the ceiling and called, "Stop! We need to stop; something's wrong with Mrs. Aegir!"

She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes and wished there was anywhere at all she could be alone.

The carriage slowly drew to a stop as Mr. Aegir asked what was wrong again. "Are you feeling ill? I know, for some people, getting bumped about like that upsets their stomachs."

"Perhaps she needs some air," Mr. Gloucester suggested. "Such a hot day, and all…"

"Shall we go sit in the shade?" her husband asked. "I can get some water for you…"

There were two knocks on the door of the carriage and then it opened. Even Bernie looked up. It was Lady Gloucester's maid.

"Is everything alright in here?" she asked, looking every bit as severe as the lady she served. Bernie had pegged her immediately as someone she wouldn't want to cross. She frowned at Bernie and clicked her tongue and said, "Oh, dear. Come on, pet, I keep a tonic for heat troubles with me on long trips. Come with me to the other carriage."

Bernie went with the encouragement of her husband. The maid led her slowly to the other carriage, with the adults in it, and had Bernie wait while she shuffled about in her travel bag. Bernie was pretty sure it wasn't heat illness or thirst, but she wasn't going to admit that she just didn't feel cut out for her new life.

At last, a canteen was pushed into her hands and she was helped to sit down on the step of the carriage. She sipped the tonic and it was fruity and refreshing. When she'd had about half, she felt a lot better. "There you go, that's a much better color for a young lady, not so flushed," the maid cood. "Can I help you back to your car-- oh, still tearful? Do you need to cool down for a bit?"

Bernie didn't know why she was crying again. Maybe the maid was right, and the heat was taking a toll on her body. But, from her own perspective, she mostly just felt inadequate. She shrugged and shrank into herself, as if that would help anything.

"Poor dear. Here, wipe your face and neck down. You have a fan with you, right? You need one, in a carriage in summer."

Bernie took the damp handkerchief she was offered and rubbed it over her neck. It did help cool her. Then she mopped up the sweat on her face, which was refreshing, if nothing else.

Then the maid leaned down and said, very quietly, "Everything else is well, right? We can change the makeup of the carriages with no trouble, have a ladies' carriage and a gentlemen's carriage and say we did it to fuss over you."

Bernie couldn't stand the scrutiny of her own peers; she didn't know what she would do with two severe women like Lady Gloucester and her maid looking down at her instead. So she shook her head and said, "Mr. Aegir and Mr. Gloucester are perfect gentlemen," because that was true. The problem was that she was a very imperfect young lady. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble. I didn't even mean to start crying, but now everybody's stopped on my account, and--"

"Shhhhh, there's a good girl. It's very good they acted so quickly; we wouldn't want you stuck being miserable, would we?"

Bernie hadn't ever had anyone to fret over her when she was miserable. Usually, she was told that if she was going to be such a downer, she could go to her room. But she shook her head because that was obviously the correct response.

"Of course not. Are you still thirsty? Here, sometimes nothing will do but something damp draped over your neck."

A collar was drawn over Bernadetta's shoulders, made of thick linen and dampened all over, and a different canteen was pressed into her hands. She drank from it and it was just water this time.

At last, a few minutes later, she'd calmed down and Mrs. Gloucester had gotten herself involved, too, seemingly trying to fret over her but really just looking severe and judgmental as Bernie wondered how she could possibly pass muster with the plain, white cooling collar about her neck and her eyes red and puffy.

At last, she was allowed to go back to the young people's carriage and hide from the adult scrutiny. She did feel better, and much cooler, but she felt horrible for slowing everybody down, even if the two imperious ladies refused to let her apologize for it.

This time, Mr. Aegir sat across from her, which was perfectly understandable; she wouldn't want to sit next to someone so prone to fits of crying, either. "Ah, my mother's favorite traveling companion," Mr. Gloucester said. When Bernie looked up, he gestured to his lapel. "That collar. I suppose she'll use a scarf for the same purpose on this journey. Is it helping?"

Bernie nodded and said yes very quietly. Somehow, the scents the young men were wearing felt less oppressive, and their scrutiny was less severe when the embroidery she'd worried about in the first place was covered by Lady Gloucester's own accessory, plain as it was.

"Poor Ferdinand was overcome with worry for you," Mr. Gloucester said, and his tone implied he was giving her very juicy gossip.

_ "Lorenz!" _

"Pacing, pulling at his gloves… He kept asking if he should check on you, and then deciding you need your space. I told him neither my mother nor Mrs. Wardry would let you return to us unless you were well, but I must say, even I am reassured to see your complexion returned to normal."

Ferdinand looked quite red, and stared resolutely out the window. "I don't see how a man could be anything other than concerned when his wife just starts crying," he said quietly. "I should have made sure you drank enough before we left; of course you are not used to summers in Enbarr." But he didn't look at her and he didn't apologize.

"Mr. Aegir, are you shaking?" Bernie asked after a moment.

"Will we have to stop  _ again?" _ Mr. Gloucester whined. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Ferdinand, all is well. None of it is your fault." He turned to Bernie, still rubbing Ferdinand’s arm, and said, "He gets quite nervous sometimes. It is nothing to worry yourself over; if you comfort him, it usually gets better."

"Would you… like to sit with me again?" Bernie offered. Maybe he wasn't trying to distance himself from her because he found her tiresome and pathetic. Maybe he was trying to give her space.

Ferdinand glanced up, looking scared in the same way Bernadetta often did. His lips twitched into a smile for just the barest second. "You would like me by your side?" he asked, and his voice shook.

Bernadetta was a lot less intimidated when he was like this. She pulled her skirts with her as she scooted to the side, and then nodded. "I liked sitting next to you," she told him, which wasn't untrue.

"Then I will, gladly," he told her, and shifted across the carriage to sit next to her again. "I am so glad you feel better. May I kiss your hand?"

Bernie raised her hand for him and he took it and kissed it. Then he looked at her and kissed her hand again. "Tell me if I am crowding you," he instructed. "I know you appreciate some space." His eyes and his voice were sincere and affectionate.

Bernie looked down at their knees, where they were touching. "I like sitting next to you, though," she said, which also wasn't a lie: she liked it as much as sitting across from him.

She pretended not to hear him gasp next to her.

"Ah-- I believe we were discussing embroidery," Mr. Gloucester said. "Mrs. Aegir, it is mostly covered now, but I noticed you have some very fine embroidery on your dress. Would you let me inspect it more closely tomorrow?"

"Lorenz," her husband hissed.

It was clear he was only talking about the dress, though, and not Bernadetta in the dress. "The embroidery is my own work," she said, looking down. "On close inspection, it would probably look crude to your trained eye." She was very glad it was covered now.

"Oh, is it older?" Mr. Gloucester asked. "Ferdinand showed me your recent work, those leafy things -- jug plants? -- and the needlework was  _ very _ fine."

"It's really just a hobby," Bernie deflected. "Nothing worth getting excited over."

"What a shame. I hope I can be one of the first to see your new works when Ferdinand and I are at school together; I find, like my parents, I am growing into a great connoisseur of the arts."

It wasn't so bad, as it turned out, being in a carriage with the two young men. Every half-hour or so, one of them would ask if she was cool enough. Mr. Gloucester insisted he was alright, and Ferdinand said the heat just made him sleepy, and then proved it by dozing through the second half of the morning. Bernadetta and Lorenz chatted about their lands and Bernie got to learn more about Lady Gloucester's maid, Mrs. Wardry.

"She is a professional fretter," Mr. Gloucester declared. "Look at my mother: do you think she would allow just anybody to fret over her? Absolutely not. Even my father has difficulty sometimes. So, along with helping her dress and arranging her social engagements and all the usual things a maid is good for, Mrs. Wardry's job is to fret over my mother so insistently that she has no way to say no."

"Why?" Bernie asked, smiling despite herself. "Why does she need to be worried over?"

"Oh, she ties herself in knots worrying about things," Mr. Gloucester told her. "She and my father are both very ambitious, always have been, but I've seen my mother fall ill for  _ days _ over my older sister's marriage prospects, right at the point when the whole arrangement was finally starting to work out, so taking a step back and putting things in perspective is something she needs, and when that inevitably fails, having someone about with nothing more imperative to do than sympathizing and drawing a nice bath and going to fetch a nice glass of wine is invaluable to the whole family."

"Lorenz' whole family is very high-strung," Ferdinand mumbled from where he was leaning against the wall of the carriage, but he didn't open his eyes.

"A flattering description, but not inaccurate," Lorenz admitted. "We like things to go according to plan. We did not become one of the most powerful families in Liecester by sitting about and hoping things would work out! But, as a result, my mother does get occasional attacks of nerves, and the only person who can calm such a severe and dignified woman is an equally severe and dignified woman. One thing a young, sweet woman can do, though, is appreciate her hospitality and accept a tour of the rose garden, which you really must see, regardless! We have some of the finest roses in the world, and we breed more and more beautiful ones every year!"

Bernie agreed easily, and she and Lorenz chatted lazily up until their lunch break. Ferdinand occasionally interjected, but he seemed to drift between sleep and drowsy wakefulness. When midday came, the carriage stopped in a small town and Ferdinand stretched his spine and shoulders, rolled his neck, and followed Lorenz out into the street. He helped Bernie down, too, which was very sweet of him.

The climate was already much cooler just a few hours out of Enbarr. Bernie gave Mrs. Wardry back the wrap she'd borrowed, thanking her profusely, before sticking herself to Ferdinand's side like she'd always belonged there.

Lunch was a grand affair. The servants were fed as well as their masters, so there was lots of everything to go around: meat pies, summer fruit, poached fish, several kinds of pickle, and all the things that made up a summer luncheon. The Gloucester nobility were generous with their money and, Bernie supposed, besides that they were returning from a holiday, so it was only right to enjoy the ride back. Bernadetta couldn't remember the last time she'd gone on a trip with her family for fun.

Everyone was in a good mood as the nobility piled back into the two carriages and the whole group set out again. This time, Ferdinand had checked three times to ensure Bernie had drunk enough water, and they all felt much more festive after a nice lunch and a chance to stretch their legs.

By the time they arrived at the town that was serving as their halfway point for the two-day journey, Bernadetta was on a solid first-name basis with not only Lorenz, but her husband. She thought maybe some of the strain in her marriage was because they hadn't had time to sit around and chat, and whenever they tried the conversation had turned to much more serious things. On the way to their honeymoon, with Lorenz keeping the conversation light after what he considered a delightful trip to the Adrestian capital, it was easy to just enjoy themselves and get to know each other.

There was some discussion about bedrooms when they reached the inn. The gentlemen and Lord Gloucester's valet would be occupying one room, and Lady Gloucester, Bernadetta, and Mrs. Wardry would be in another. "Regrettable arrangements, but there are only so many rooms, you know," Lady Gloucester pointed out. Then she looked pointedly at Ferdinand and said, "And I am certain even our newlyweds can stand being apart just one night." Putting a hand on Bernadetta's shoulder, she added, "We will have such a nice, relaxing evening. The men will do whatever it is men do together after dinner."

Ferdinand kissed her hand and also her cheek, and smiled at her shyly, and they bade each other good night. Bernadetta was the first to head upstairs.

Lady Gloucester, despite seeming so intimidating at first, turned out to be very warm. She let Bernie use her silky lavender-rose soap to wash up after the long, hot day and insisted that Bernie try her amber night cream on her face and hands. Bernadetta felt that she smelled as fancy as the gentlemen she'd been riding with, and the scents suited her nicely. "So, tell me," Lady Gloucester said as she brushed her hair before bed. "What has happened in Varley in recent years? Everyone heard about the Insurrection, but being so far away, we've heard little else and had no trade whatsoever. I should very much like to hear how the county has been."

"Um… quiet?" Bernie guessed. "I don't… get out very much."

"Ah, busy in preparation for the wedding?" Lady Gloucester asked, which was a very easy out, so Bernie nodded. "Yes, quite an odd wedding," she speculated. "They moved the original timeline up by a few months, Mr. Aegir was saying. I wonder, have you been as anxious as your husband about the marriage?"

"How… h-how anxious has he been?" Would he be angry about that? Would he hold Bernadetta accountable for the stress their fathers had caused him?

"Oh, he could barely eat for weeks, poor thing," Lady Gloucester said with the same exaggerated concern Lorenz sometimes affected. She finished brushing her hair and started braiding it. "I've been quite fond of him since his mother died. He and my Lorenz met at the opera when they were small, and you know how children tend to get along when they're of an age, but they've stayed friends very nicely over the years. Oh, but I'm doing all the talking; how have you been, Mrs. Aegir?"

She'd been terrible. She'd been in bed half the week from stress. She couldn't remember the last day she hadn't cried. "It's been wearing on me, too," she admitted. "I have many of the same pressures, and I had to move into a city I barely know." Into a household she barely knew. "And all we had were a few letters and some small gifts. Ferdinand is very kind, but I have needed some time to adjust to the new setting."

Lady Gloucester tied her braid with a lavender ribbon that matched her hair. "Hm. How is he kind?"

"Excuse me?" Bernie squeaked. Hadn't Lady Gloucester just said she liked Ferdinand? "You know him better than me…"

"I know the boy who is eager to impress his friend's mother," the older woman countered. "How is he as a husband?"

Bernie glanced at Mrs. Wardry. She didn't know how to orient herself socially. She belonged to Ferdinand, right? She didn't have anything bad to say, but should they be gossiping in front of servants? What if she did have some criticism she needed Lady Gloucester to help her with?

"Oh, don't worry about Sarah; she hears all my business," Lady Gloucester soothed.

"Ferdinand is very considerate," Bernie started hesitantly, looking down. Why did she have to say all this in her chemise? Why couldn't they have had this conversation earlier? "He is always thinking of my comfort and trying to make me feel like a natural part of his family and his life."

"But…?"

The floodgates opened. "I just feel so disoriented in Enbarr," Bernadetta admitted, and she didn't know how to stop her stupid mouth from oversharing. "I only barely came out, and now I have to act like I know how society works, and I'm so scared he'll think I'm stupid if I ask, but I'm just as scared I'll make a mistake and-- and I just don't know what to do…" She'd said it to the wrong person, hadn't she? Lady Gloucester, stately and proper and perfectly comported, lived and breathed good etiquette, and had surely passed it down to her son. Doubtless, she was already judging Bernadetta for not picking those skills up on her own. "Sorry. Sorry, it's such a small problem, I'm sure it'll be easy to deal with--"

"No need to apologize," Lady Gloucester said. Mrs. Wardry said something about shaking and pushed Bernadetta gently into a chair. "But what on Earth was your family  _ doing _ when they prepared you for your marriage? The rules of society are very straightforward, Mrs. Aegir; they should be no problem for a clever young lady. We will get you all up to muster in Gloucester so you can return to Enbarr with a confident smile on your face." She stood and Bernie stood with her, and she put a hand on Bernadetta's arm and Bernie didn't know how to respond. "I am very glad to hear you have had no trouble with Ferdinand. He can get a bit… shall I say, unobservant. He always means well, you see, but some things just go right over his head. Do be patient with him, will you? I mean nothing against him; it's the way he came into this world. I would just hate for you to think he was being obtuse on purpose if you have a misunderstanding." She turned the sheets of the nearer bed down. "Perhaps it would do both of you well to go to some parties in Gloucester," Lady Gloucester remarked as she guided Bernie to sit down on the bed. "They are not quite as glamorous as Enbarr, but nowhere on the continent is. And there is a very nice holiday atmosphere there; it will be very difficult for you to get so distressed. Such events are by far the easiest way to practice your social comportment."

It sounded horrible. It sounded like the kind of thing Bernie would usually fake a cold or a headache for. But she nodded and said, "Thank you very much for looking out for me. I really don't mean to impose…"

"Well, you'll just have to pay me back by taking my Lorenz with you," Lady Gloucester joked. She got into the other side of the bed. "He can be a bit of a wallflower. Ferdinand is the same, so they have been going to parties all Spring where they just chat with each other. I suppose, for very young adults who have only just come out, that sort of behavior is normal enough, but with Ferdinand otherwise occupied, Lorenz should have just the push he needs to talk to all the pretty young ladies instead."

The entire time since they'd met, Ferdinand had seemed completely confident in himself. He had told her he was troubled by self-doubt, and shared his technique for overcoming it, but he had never actually seemed uncertain. Or… Was that true? Today, after Bernadetta's crying episode, he had been so worried he wouldn't even sit next to her until she told him it was okay. Had she been misreading him?

"When we went to the opera, Ferdinand introduced me to a lot of people," she told Lady Gloucester. "I'm sure it's different when you're in a less familiar situation, but he can be very outgoing when he wants to be." He had been that way at their wedding, too: while Bernadetta was intimidated by all the people she didn't know, Ferdinand had greeted them with a smile. He'd only acted nervous when they were alone, in the consummation room and, later, when they got to his house. She'd been certain it was her fault. Was that just how he was when he let down his guard?

"People tend to grow into some confidence," Lady Gloucester assured her. "Lorenz will, too." And she yawned widely and declared how tired she was, and all three of them fell asleep in the next few minutes.

.-._.-._.-._

In the morning, everybody breakfasted together. The Count and Countess talked quietly and then talked to Lorenz, and Lorenz grinned at Bernie and said, "I see my mother has taken you on as her summer project," and then winked at Ferdinand, who was just coming to sit next to her. "We are to be relegated to my father's carriage, where we can hear about the singular time he fought bandits, again."

Bernie hadn't heard about anything like that. "Oh, have the seating arrangements changed?" she asked. That was bad. That was really bad. She had been intimidated by Lorenz and Ferdinand, and they were young and mostly concerned with themselves. Lady Gloucester and Mrs. Wardry had only been nice to her, but would that change now that they were trying to turn her into a proper lady? When they finally reached Gloucester, would Bernie be allowed any time alone in her room?

"No need to look so shocked; she obviously likes you a great deal. Her assistance is inescapable now, so you will simply have to sit back and enjoy her crash course in wildflower identification. Ferdinand went through it two years ago and came out of it a changed man."

"There is no need to speak so rudely," Ferdinand admonished his friend. He put a hand on Bernadetta's shoulder and told her, "Lady Gloucester is a lovely traveling companion. She and Mrs. Wardry are very considerate, and I am not sure I have ever had a more relaxing day of travel than when I rode with them, even if I am less adept than Lorenz at telling flowers apart from a distance."

Ferdinand and Lorenz distracted each other, Lorenz insisting that mustard and fennel are easily distinguishable and Ferdinand sputtering, "They are the same yellow! And the same size of flower!" Then they argued about birds, as well, and Bernadetta ate quietly. She would surely spend the day talking more than she wanted to.

Now that she knew how to look for Ferdinand's nervousness, it was clear to her. It was in the way he asked if she'd had enough to eat, the way he checked before they left whether she'd drunk enough water, in the gentle touches on her shoulder and arm throughout the meal. He was  _ fretting _ over her, as surely as she'd been fretted over the day before. It was new to her.

It was nice.

He had been doing it all week: trying to anticipate her needs even though they barely knew each other. Trying to take particular care with her. She had assumed he just had a very caring personality. It had never occurred to her that, if she hadn't acted so worrying, crying all the time and locking herself in her room, he might not have done those things.

He had seemed to take care of himself just fine. But she should reciprocate, right? It wouldn't be right for him to put so much work into ensuring she was alright to get nothing in return. His bashful smile when she poured him a fresh cup of tea and asked if he needed more toast was a good reminder that he was just as new to married life as she was.

All good things must come to an end, and a calm breakfast especially so. Before she knew it, everybody was shuffling outside, preparing the carts and carriages that would take them to Gloucester. The day was just starting to warm up, and when Bernadetta bade Ferdinand goodbye for the morning and stepped into the ladies' carriage, Lady Gloucester already had the linen collar around her neck that Bernie had worn the previous morning. She fanned herself idly as Bernadetta arranged two layers of skirts under herself.

"Good morning, Mrs. Aegir," Mrs. Wardry said, and Bernadetta responded in kind. They had seen each other before breakfast, anyway, so she was pretty sure that was all that was called for.

"Well!" Lady Gloucester said. "We will certainly be interrupted by the natural beauty around us on our way into Gloucester, so why don't we start on today's task? Do you have any questions to start off with?"

Bernie shook her head. She would sit and take instruction.

"Oh, but surely you must have some particular situation where you feel uncertain?" Lady Gloucester pressed. "What seems to be giving you the most trouble?"

Oh. She was asking because she didn't know Bernie very well. She was just looking for any prompt. Best to start from the beginning, Bernie supposed. "Um. At breakfast. He… My first day in Aegir House, Ferdinand asked if I wanted to go down to breakfast or have it brought up. He insisted there was no right or wrong answer, but I feel like there must have been?"

Lady Gloucester nodded. "Getting married is very tiring," she agreed. "Is that why he offered?"

Bernie nodded.

"He was probably tired, as well," Lady Gloucester pointed out. "If it was Ferdinand saying so, then it should not have been a trick; he is quite guileless. But, if somebody offers you a choice and you take it, the fault is on them for offering if they don't like it, and you can feel entirely free to tell them so."

"You will certainly never be expected to read minds," Mrs. Wardry agreed. "If you feel someone is only offering something because you would like it, and not because they would, it is particularly gracious to take the option they prefer, but even then, it is no faux pas to do what makes you most comfortable."

"But, should I not always comport myself with deference around my husband?" Bernie asked. "I… We raced on horseback, accidentally, and I accidentally won, and I just could have smacked myself. I--"

"I am going to stop you right there," Lady Gloucester told her. "And I refuse to even feel bad about the interruption. Defer to him, certainly, as often as is called for. But, barring any frustration on his part, there is no need to make yourself lesser to accommodate him. Is he not future Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir, the only crested child of House Aegir? If he is unable to handle being beaten in an impromptu horse race, then he is not the young man I know and I would be glad to have words with him about how to encourage an ambitious wife. The only circumstance where I would recommend you always cleave to your husband is in the bedroom; men are notoriously bad at recognizing whether intimacy is desired or even called for."

"It is one of their unfortunate features," Mrs. Wardry corroborated. "But a well-satisfied husband does tend to be much easier to get along with during the day."

"I'm afraid I frightened Ferdinand off already," Bernie admitted. "We barely managed to consummate our marriage, and we slept in separate rooms after our wedding because I was so tired, but then he would not come back and sleep with me. He comes in to dress, or to take a meal with me when I feel unwell, and then he leaves. I know I'm plain, and my manners are untrained, and I probably look behind the times because I'm from the country, but how do I bring him into our marriage bed? I am afraid he will ignore me, as he's been doing."

"Ignoring a pretty little thing like you?" Lady Gloucester asked. "Why, that certainly won't do, not on your honeymoon!"

"Perhaps he was worried people in his house would hear?" Mrs. Wardry asked. "It can get quite noisy."

These two women, with their deep frown lines, were not who Bernie would have wanted to ask about this. But she pushed forward, anyway. "He will not make any move without encouragement," she explained. "He asks every time he kisses my hand or my cheek, and has not kissed my lips since the wedding. We had lots of time before the opera, so I thought we might dress together, and maybe he would like the sight of me doing my stockings, but he turned away as if he thought I would be embarrassed. Me, his wife!"  _ Had _ he kissed her at their wedding? Bernadetta wasn't so sure anymore. At the altar, it had been more or less mutual, and in the consummation room,  _ she _ had kissed  _ him _ . Was she really so repulsive?

"Have you said anything to him about it?" Lady Gloucester asked. "Has he said anything about it?"

Bernie thought back. Back to their almost-consummation, the closest they'd gotten despite never getting close enough. "He said he was uncomfortable being so amorous before he knew how I liked to be held or kissed," she admitted, hoping that wasn't too graphic. "But he has made no move to learn to do either. Is there anything I can do to make myself less plain? Is there some way to make myself pretty enough for him to desire me?" She wouldn't normally ask those sorts of questions, but after all, the older women had offered their advice, and they were beautiful enough to their husbands to be desired frequently. Bernie must have been doing something wrong, or else she was even more repulsive than she'd thought.

"He called you plain? Ferdinand? To your face?" Mrs. Wardry asked. Her eyes were alight. She looked enraged.

Bernie shrank. "Of course not," she admitted. "But I am. No matter how much he calls me beautiful, or dainty, or expounds on my charms, I know he is only being kind. I mean, look at me." Her nose was small and her forehead was large and her eyes had a sort of droopy quality. Her skin tone was uneven from too much time spent in the sun and she tended to hold herself awkwardly. Her breasts were small, nothing that would please a man, and when her stays came off, they were an ugly shape and pointed in two different directions. The rest of her body was no better, lumpy and badly proportioned with hips so small her mother had worried over her. Not that Ferdinand could bring himself to look at her body.

"You are a perfectly lovely young lady," Lady Gloucester informed her, as if she was telling her some inescapable fact and not just idly flattering her. "Ferdinand would be a fool if he did not think himself lucky to be married to such an attractive woman. This is an excellent opportunity to bring about a change of pace; if you tell him you would like to get closer, I doubt he will disagree."

"Until recently, he was all nerves and very little mettle," Mrs. Wardry added. "I think it would be foolish to discount the idea that he just lost his nerve, whatever the reason. He often thinks himself bad at things he has no experience in."

"Yes, he gets terribly shy when he feels uncertain," Lady Gloucester agreed. "One of the few circumstances where it would be better for him to act more like a regular man, concerned only with his own pleasure. But, if he will not take the initiative, then you must. Ask for his kiss and embrace and see if he gives them freely with some encouragement, because of course you must bear him a child with his crest."

“And in short order, if you can,” Mrs. Wardry added. “Not to speak too far above my station, but it took his father quite some time to settle down enough to have a legitimate child, so there’s some talk of him stepping down in the next five years or so. With a new job as Prime Minister, there’s no telling whether your Mr. Aegir will have time for his wife. One hopes there will not be a lull, but…" Mrs. Wardry and Lady Gloucester exchanged knowing glances.

That was something to be aware of, then. A timeline began to form in Bernie's head: they would consummate in Gloucester, and hopefully Ferdinand would learn to take what was rightfully his (there was no need for him to know Bernadetta had no intention of bearing a child, but if getting his way at night would make him more agreeable during the day, it would certainly be a blessing -- he was always agreeable now, but they were newlyweds and there was no stress from school or family to upset him) in plenty of time for them to have a solidly established marital relationship by the time they went to Garreg Mach. In a few years, the Duke of Aegir would resign in favor of his son, and then Ferdinand would be too busy for her at night without holding their lack of lovemaking against her. It seemed almost do-able, if she let herself forget that five years was a very long time and if she convinced herself she would be able to lie down and allow an act that was said to be anywhere from mediocre to unpleasant to be performed on her person, even though she knew from experience that her own father could not make her sit in a chair without hours of thrashing and screaming.

"You look deep in thought," Lady Gloucester told her. "Are you devising ways to get Ferdinand alone in various tempting situations?"

Bernie smiled. "Perhaps, instead of just dressing in the same room, I could ask him to tie my garters," she suggested. "And I am sure your rose gardens will have places to sit where a person might be completely hidden from sight by the rose bushes."

"That's the spirit," Mrs. Wardry told her. "Just something to get him accustomed to pursuing you."

.-._.-._.-._

Gloucester Hall was every bit as beautiful as described. Rising from what seemed to be a whole field of roses, with more open parkland nearby, the building was elegant and grand, with glazing in many of the windows. Smoke came up from the chimney, so they could expect a hot dinner. Lady Gloucester and Mrs. Wardry had long since started commenting exclusively on the landscape they were passing, and now they expounded on the newest additions to the rose garden.

A climbing rose, covered in small yellow blooms, curved around the front entrance and continued up just barely to the second story. It had a name that Bernadetta immediately forgot. As they prepared to enter the house, she stuck herself to Ferdinand's side again, hoping to look as special and dignified as Lady Gloucester said was her right as a new bride.

Everyone walked upstairs together and Ferdinand and Bernie were shown to a lovely room with blue crepe wallpaper. The windows were wide open to let the air through, and they had a lovely view of the front gardens.

"How was the ride?" Bernie asked. Soon, when their things were brought up, she would be able to begin putting the schemes she'd devised with the older women into action.

"Very nice, thank you," Ferdinand told her with one of his easy smiles. "And how was it for you?"

"Very good. Lady Gloucester and Mrs. Wardry are going to help me learn all the good manners I lack, so I will not embarrass you in Enbarr."

"Okay," Ferdinand said, looking a bit confused. "If it helps, any deficiencies you have were not noticeable in Enbarr, even at the opera. You have been entirely appropriate so far. I hope you will not be too hard on yourself."

"I will not," Bernie promised, and then reassured him with, "I am Bernadetta von Aegir. But I would like to feel more confident in those situations."

"Lady Gloucester is certainly the best teacher you could find for that sort of thing," Ferdinand told her. "I am glad you seem to have seen through her severe expression; she is very kind, really. I was worried she would intimidate you."

"She did," Bernie conceded. "And Mrs. Wardry, too. But then we shared a room last night and they were both so nice. Is Count Gloucester the same? Does he improve when you get to know him?" He was a bit severe, and a bit grumpy, and a bit particular. He had seemed not only unapproachable, but uninterested in anything concerning Bernie. 

"He is always a bit… distant," Ferdinand admitted. "But, if you look at his actions, he does well by his people and has set Lorenz up to lead the Alliance someday, so I do think well of him." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I have never heard anyone speak badly of him," as if that was close or equivalent to hearing people speak well of him.

Bernie weighed the advantages of taking a chance against the embarrassment she would suffer if Ferdinand was more disinterested in her than he'd let on, and finally said, "We should have plenty of time to relax before dinner."

Ferdinand nodded, smiling a bit guiltily. "Ah, of course. I forgot how you like your privacy. If you would like some time alone, I would be perfectly happy with a short walk once I have put my things away."

"I thought we might spend some time together," Bernie said, and held her breath as she waited for her husband's reply.

She should never have worried. Ferdinand's face lit up with the brightest smile she'd seen from him so far. He kept his voice level, however, when he told her, "I would enjoy that."

That was good. He was willing, or at least he was willing to spend time with her. Bernie had been instructed in all the small things a woman might do to encourage a man to action, so she stepped toward him and took Ferdinand's hand in both of hers, raising it to her chest, over her heart. Ferdinand didn't speak and Bernie didn't look up.

"Would you take a turn in the rose garden with me?" Ferdinand asked. That was not nearly what Bernadetta was hoping for, but it would certainly take them in that direction. "It should be light for a few hours, still, and it will feel good to stretch our legs."

"I would love to," Bernie promised him. She had been assured they could kiss behind a hedge. Perhaps his hands could find other places to be than her arms or her sides, so it would not be so intimidating when they were alone in their room. She wondered how many times she would have to endure such close contact before he would do the honorable thing and consummate their marriage. She hoped it wasn't many; she wasn't sure she could keep up the appearance of enthusiasm for very long.

Their luggage came up in short order, so they put away their things and went for a walk in the garden. The sun wasn't very low yet, since it was nearly the middle of summer, and the air was still warm. Ferdinand led her around the side of the house, to a nice little fountain with stone benches around. Every path was lined with rose bushes.

"Let's sit here," Bernie said, sitting on the bench that faced her away from the house. She looked back toward the building and calculated the angle in her head. The bushes, fully leafed out and blooming, should hide anything they decided to do from people in the house.

"I have been sitting all day," Ferdinand reminded her, and hopped up onto another bench. He spread his arms out, as if the bench was narrow enough to be hard to balance on. "If you do not mind, I will stay standing."

It was impossible to tell if he was making an excuse for himself or if he was sincere. Hadn't Lady Gloucester warned her that Ferdinand was a bit slow on the uptake sometimes? Perhaps it would be best to tell him her intentions planly. "I had thought it might be very romantic, being kissed among the roses," Bernie told her husband. She looked demurely down at her lap.

.-._.-._.-._

"I thought it might be very romantic, being kissed among the roses," Bernadetta told him, and suddenly Ferdinand felt childish and silly for skipping about all over the hardscaping.

Bernadetta sat innocently in front of a bush of large pink and yellow roses, looking the very picture of a blushing bride. She had been irresistible all week, but never more than in this moment, with the strange, ongoing summer twilight casting long shadows all around them. Her hair looked as purple as he'd ever seen it.

Ferdinand went to sit next to her.

"I would like very much to kiss you," he told his wife. "It will not upset you? I would not want to act too familiar."

"We are married," Bernadetta told him, as if she hadn't spent most of the week shrinking from him. As if they were bedfellows, as married couples should be. "That is as familiar as it gets."

Ferdinand leaned toward her to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head and they kissed on the lips instead. They hadn't gotten that far since the wedding. Ferdie's eyes roved over his wife's face as he pulled away from her, but he couldn't see any indication of how she was feeling.

Perhaps she was feeling renewed already. Perhaps being on her honeymoon, away from the people and heat of the City, was already invigorating her. Or perhaps she had decided to start over, knowing from the start what Ferdinand was like. Whatever the reason, Ferdinand enjoyed kissing her soft lips and leaned toward her again, putting a hand on her opposite shoulder to pull her toward him.

As they continued kissing, Bernadetta pulled Ferdie's hands down over her body. She pulled the hand on her shoulder down to her chest, over her heart, but Ferdinand's own heart was beating so hard he could not have felt hers if he tried. Then she pulled his hand down farther still and Ferdinand was shocked into pulling away.

"Out here?" he asked, looking toward the manor house, suddenly worried a servant would look out through a window and see them past the rose bushes.

"I don't think we're visible from the house," Bernadetta told him, and pulled his hand more solidly against her-- against that part of her chest.

"This is my first-- I have never before--" Ferdinand stuttered out.

"Then isn't it time to learn?" Bernadetta asked gently.

He did promise her they would work toward consummation. And it was true that the rules Ferdinand knew about keeping a respectful distance and not acting bawdily toward women were changed now that he was married. But he still had the feeling that one of their chaperones would come out of the rose garden any second to yell at them.

"Tell me if it is unpleasant for you," Ferdinand told his wife, to ensure she knew her comfort was still at the forefront of his mind. At her pleased nod, he kissed her again with his hand on her breast. It was soft, pliable under his strong hand, but he could feel the rigid lining of of her shaping garment, so he eventually moved his hand to her waist, and then even lower. When Bernadetta seemed just as enthusiastic as before, he took a great handful of her rear and pulled her close from there and from her shoulders.

Ferdie pulled away when his heart was racing and his face felt flushed. His first impulse was to thank Bernadetta, but that made no sense. Instead, he said, "That was a lot of fun," and took Bernadetta's nod to mean she felt the same way.

He took her hand and kissed it. "I… would be honored if you would continue it with me later, after dinner and cards."

"I would be glad to," Bernadetta told him. She seemed less nervous about the prospect of relaxing with Lorenz' family than she had about relaxing with Ferdinand's family, which she had routinely snubbed. It was impossible to tell if that was because she disapproved of Ferdinand's family, or because she was just getting better adjusted to life outside of Varley.

"I think we should change for dinner," Ferdinand said, and the words sounded stupid even as he said them. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, and was aware of very little except how beautiful his wife was.

"Oh. Right," Bernadetta said, sounding as dazed as he felt, so at least she probably hadn't noticed that he was less skilled at conversation than usual. "Here, you were saying the pink ones?" She tugged at her dress as she stood up, shaking out any wrinkles.

Ferdinand caught her drift and stood with her, offering his arm for her to hold. "Yes, these pink ones. A few years ago, my father let me summer here -- I think our parents agreed that two individual boys are a handful, but two boys together keep each other occupied -- and I cut one of these for a buttonhole."

Bernadetta gasped. "But they're so big!" she exclaimed, which was exactly why it had been a bad idea.

"Much too big," Ferdie agreed easily. "And I had no way of knowing they were just about to be clipped and sent in a bouquet to Lord Gloucester's niece on the occasion of her engagement."

Bernadetta laughed, which Ferdie always liked to hear. She nudged him companionably and he nudged back as his heart soared. At last, she was acting affectionate! Maybe his gentle treatment of her all week hadn't been as unhelpful as he'd thought.

They continued commenting on and smelling the roses as they strolled back to the house. As they walked up the stairs to their room, Bernadetta asked, "What sort of scent do you think would smell good on me?" which was a very good puzzle, indeed.

"Do you know, I had not thought about it at all," Ferdie told her. "I suppose, traveling with this party, it would be an unavoidable question."

"Yes," Bernadetta answered in that very brief way that suggested she had more to say, but was cutting herself off.

"Have you been considering any in particular?" Ferdie asked as they reached the top of the stairs. He strode ahead so he could hold the door open.

"I haven't really -- thank you -- I haven't given it much thought, but it does give a person a certain dignified air." She opened her wardrobe and asked, "Do you think I would step on any toes if I wore purple to dinner? It seems like a theme in Gloucester, but it's my color, too, with my hair…"

"If you match Lady Gloucester at dinner, I think she will insist you planned it that way," Ferdie told her. "How was she on the drive, by the way? I hope she focused on the plants and wildlife, and did not get upset over small things?" She could be impossible to help, sometimes, as Lorenz had explained, and it would only upset Bernadetta to see such a dignified woman get so wound up.

"We all had a good time," Bernadetta told him. "Oh-- how formal is dinner here? I would not want to be under-dressed."

Ferdinand turned to face her. He was so accustomed to changing facing away from her that he no longer even thought it notable. Bernadetta had laid a subtly iridescent purple dress on the bed and was rifling through her gloves.

"I think you will not need too much ornamentation with such a nice dress," Ferdie told his bride. "I believe it is second only to the one you wore when we were married."

Bernadetta selected a pair of white gloves with delicate blue forget-me-nots around the tops. It seemed everything she'd owned for any notable period of time ended up embroidered.

Ferdinand changed his shirt while he was changing all his outerwear. After a long day in a hot carriage with three other men, he smelled anything but fresh. He hoped Bernadetta either wasn't looking or didn't find it unseemly.

"Ferdinand?" Bernadetta asked in her small voice.

"Mmh?" he asked without turning around.

"Could you help me with my stays? They loosen during the day, especially in the heat."

That, more than anything, spoke to how nervous she was. She hadn't asked his help any other day, even though summers in Enbarr were sweltering, and she was such a timid little thing, asking him to intrude on her privacy like that could only mean she was more scared of making a bad impression than she was of Ferdinand seeing her undressed.

She had him tighten the garment and tie the lace snugly, and then she leaned forward and began tugging everything into place and Ferdinand turned away. He, at least, was in his waistcoat, even if he hadn't buttoned it yet. He thought he would look very handsome by Bernadetta's side in blue, and his waistcoat was a charming sky blue that he thought looked very handsome with his eyes and hair.

Bernadetta said something very quietly, and Ferdinand turned again as he said, "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I said… You could look, if you wanted to," her tiny voice told him.

"Well, I could," Ferdie agreed, turning away again. "But I do notice your voice became very quiet when you asked me to, so I will not intrude."

"It is not intruding!" Bernadetta told him, as loud as he'd ever heard her. Ferdinand looked at her, surprised. She had all her layers on except her dress, perfectly decent even if she wasn't technically dressed. "Ferdinand, what do I have to do to make you show any interest in me? I have been trying all week, and trying very hard this evening, and you don't even want to look at me!"

Ferdinand stared. He couldn't think of what he'd done, especially earlier that week, to cause such a big reaction. "I-- I did not realize," he said, knowing the excuse sounded pathetic on his lips. "You-- will have to excuse me; I can be a bit slow sometimes… I truly did not know. I-- when did you…?"

"When we dress together, you won't even look at me," Bernadetta said with feeling. Her eyes were reddening. Ferdinand had really messed this up.

"Because I do not want to make you uncomfortable," Ferdie reminded her. "I am sure you have not had a man observing you as you dressed before, and I know coming to my house was difficult for you. I was trying to be respectful."

"I adjusted my stockings in front of you so you might see my legs," Bernadetta told him.

"I thought it was a coincidence," Ferdie told her, which was the truth. They were very beautiful legs, and very hard to look away from, but that was beside the point. "Anyway, you have been unwell all week; I could hardly intrude when your only wish seemed to be being left alone."

Bernadetta sniffled. "I just want to consummate our marriage," she admitted, which made sense -- she had told him as much before. "I have never tried to seduce someone before."

Ferdinand stepped forward and took her hand in both of his. "I will honor all my promises to you," he told her, hoping that was reassuring. "I do consider you my wife in every way. If you are trying to tempt me with the sight of you, then I will be sure to look, but please believe me that my only intention was to help you feel comfortable around me." He stroked her hair and smiled. "And we will be working toward consummation tonight, will we not? I did not know that was the intention when I proposed it, but if that is why you wanted me to touch you that way, I will enjoy myself even more."

"It's okay," Bernadetta said, sounding absolutely miserable. "I know I shouldn't expect too much when you don't even want to share a bed with me, but I am very aware of our half-married state."

_ "I  _ don't want to-- You never invited me back," Ferdinand reminded her, shocked. "I would love to share your bed. But on our wedding night, you screamed when I touched you, and since then you have been adamant about having enough time alone, so I decided to wait for your cues." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Oh, my darling, we  _ must _ learn to talk more about these things. I was trying to protect you and only made you miserable! I will try to be clear about my intentions in future." He kept her hand in his as he lowered them. "Okay. So, our plan for tonight is: we will appear at dinner, unless this conversation has been too taxing and you cannot, but I really think it would be best. Then we relax with the family. And then we come up here and enjoy ourselves as a married couple should. And we will both enjoy sharing a bed, so perhaps we can sleep cuddled together. Does that sound like what you were thinking of?" He didn't want to make assumptions. That had gotten him into more than enough trouble already.

Bernadetta nodded and then said they both needed to dress or they would be late.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie made a weak excuse to get her hand away from Ferdinand's grasp, and then finished dressing. Her dress had only been finished in Enbarr, where it was easier to find notions like colorful lace, and it was intended for nice dinners and parties. It certainly couldn't be said that her family had skimped on her trousseau, she thought as she buttoned the high-waisted bodice. She had asked about her dowry, but Mother had told her the men were handling it and Father said he had already worked it out with Duke Aegir. She got the impression that it wasn't money she'd been married for at all, but political favors, which she might never learn about.

She went to the vanity table they'd been provided and tugged her bodice and chemise and petticoat into place. She straightened all the lace and notions that adorned her chest and then got started on her accessories.

"You will have to excuse me if I seem uncomfortable later," she warned her husband. "I am not used to silk dresses and lace and… and low-cut shifts. I am very new to being a bride." Should she wear a jacket? It was summer, but she felt like she was on display without a blouse or even a kerchief to tuck into her neckline.

"I do not believe being a bride will be any harder than being available, as far as looking appropriate at evening events goes," Ferdinand said casually, positioning his pocket square. He looked up at her and smiled. "You look pretty as a picture. You are perfectly dressed for dinner."

"Yes, but I haven't gone out for the evening since I was… Since my sixteenth birthday, I think. There was a dance." And the opera, but between the onslaught of new people and worrying about Miss Arnault, she barely remembered the opera.

Ferdinand seemed to understand her, finally. He looked surprised, and then spoke slowly as he said, "So, for over a year, you have been… at home in the evenings?"

Bernie nodded. "And most days," she added. "You know how much I like my room." She looked like an adult in the mirror, and it was very uncomfortable. She didn't recognize herself.

"And I take it you have not had company?" Ferdinand guessed. Bernadetta shook her head.

Ferdinand paused for a couple extremely nerve-wracking seconds. Then he smiled at her and said, "Well, when you adjust to this look, I think you will find that such a mature look suits you,  _ Mrs _ . Aegir." He finished putting his gloves on and offered Bernie his arm, which she took.

The family was sitting in a parlor -- Ferdinand knew the way -- and everyone looked up when they entered.

"Oh, and here is the happy couple," Lady Gloucester said when they entered the room. "I was just telling Lorenz our plan -- you'll want to hear it, too, Ferdinand -- that perhaps the two of you would enjoy taking him out, as his chaperones, since his poor old parents don't have the energy to go out as often as an eligible young person  _ should _ go out."

"Oh, we would be honored, Lady Gloucester," Ferdinand said without checking with Bernadetta. He turned to her and said, "Imagine: us as chaperones! When two weeks ago, we are the ones who would have needed watching!" He seemed so excited about the idea that Bernie couldn't do more than smile and nod. He led her to a sofa to sit across from Lord and Lady Gloucester. "Bernadetta was just telling me that she hasn't been to nearly enough parties in recent months," Ferdinand said, which was certainly a polite way to phrase what she had told him. "I felt there was not enough dancing at our wedding, and barely any when we did not have other responsibilities to see to. I would be delighted to attend some parties with people from all over Liecester!"

"I came home to find an invitation to one in three days," Lorenz told them. He seemed happy about the news. "I will respond that I am bringing my newly married friends, if you both want to come."

There was a pause in the conversation where Bernadetta finally realized she was supposed to speak. She said, "I would love to, and I think Ferdinand has made his excitement very clear." How long would she last at a ball full of strangers? 

"You will not be disappointed," Lorenz told them. "A dance in the township is always a fun time, and the dancing here is nearly as good as in Enbarr or Derdriu."

"And the company," Ferdinand added. "People come here for a holiday or to try their hand at courting, so I think you will find everybody is very friendly."

"Oh, I am being remiss!" Lorenz exclaimed suddenly, putting a gloved hand over his chest in shock. "I have not even asked what sorts of entertainment you would enjoy. You do need to take the waters at least once; I cannot allow you to come to Gloucester, Mrs. Aegir, without sampling all the treatments available to you here. And, naturally, we will take tea in the public rose garden at least once. But I am more than happy to take you into town, or on a picnic to the forest, or out to dances, as much as you like!"

"Oh. Um… The forest sounds nice," Bernie said. "I love riding. And nature."

It was an acceptable answer because Lorenz smiled at her and said, "Excellent. We can go as soon as tomorrow, if you have the energy. And I will inquire at some of my favorite spas about how soon they could take a couple. There really is nothing so relaxing."

Oh. Oh, he was serious. Bernie wasn't sure she could handle a spa. There was bathing, which was fine, and then there were the treatments she'd heard about, mostly in vague terms, that seemed to mostly involve letting strangers touch you. It was anything but enticing. She nodded and said, "Mm." when she knew she should have thanked Lorenz for being such an attentive host.

"Do you think we could go to where we found all those waterfalls before?" Ferdinand asked, and took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "It was a bit far, but Bernadetta is a very skilled rider."

"What a charming idea," Lorenz agreed. "If you enjoy a good ride, Mrs. Aegir, then we can all work up a good appetite for lunch, and that will take us into the hills, which are very lush even in Summer."

"That sounds nice," Bernie agreed. She could handle a picnic lunch with friends in the middle of a long ride. She just couldn't handle public places with lots of strangers.

A servant came then and announced that dinner was served, and Lorenz wrote a couple more words as everybody started filtering into the dining room.

Dinner was, fortunately, not very different from how she ate at home. Ferdinand's house had been filled with guests, most of whom had hair in some degree of orange or red, all of whom were acquainted with each other. She thought it would probably be easier to appear at dinner there when the honeymoon was over and most of the Aegir relatives had gone home. But she had certainly eaten at a table with two parents and two other young people plenty of times, and she liked Lord and Lady Gloucester more than her parents, besides.

At dinner, the conversation was all about the natural beauty the women had noticed on the drive and the questions and jokes the men had thought about. Lady Gloucester invited herself to their tea in the public rose garden and told Bernadetta how imperative it was for her (and Ferdinand, of course) to take a tour of the estate's rose garden as soon as their schedule allowed. When Bernie said maybe Thursday or Friday would work, thinking of all the events Lorenz was intent on scheduling and also her own need for rest, Lady Gloucester hid her disappointment in that familiar way that told Bernie she needed to apologize. But that was obviously not what she wanted from the way everyone looked at Bernie and the way Ferdinand touched her arm, told her it was alright, and was agreed with by Lady Gloucester, herself.

"And anyway, of course a young couple on their honeymoon will have more to do to fill the time than anybody else could," Lady Gloucester added, which seemed slightly vulgar, but Bernie knew when someone was making excuses for her, so she looked down at her plate and agreed.

What  _ was _ strange about dinner at Gloucester Manor was that the conversation seemed… one-dimensional. There were few remarks that could be interpreted with double meanings, and Lorenz always responded to his parents as if there were no double meanings at all. Ferdinand, too, was unruffled by anything their hosts said, even when it was so frank that it implied strong feelings of disapproval. Bernadetta would have thought that was Ferdinand's difficulty with interpreting people's intentions, but Lorenz seemed perfectly adept and he acted the same. Bernie couldn't figure out when or where the process of signaling to their child what was proper and what had crossed a line would be carried out; dinner had always seemed the most obvious setting, since everyone was gathered together. Perhaps they put that sort of thing aside while they ate and guided Lorenz in proper behavior afterward. Or perhaps they eased off on it in front of guests. Bernie wondered if she should excuse herself early from the after-dinner entertainment, and whether Ferdinand would think he should follow her immediately or, worse, that it meant she was calling off their plans.

"You look deep in thought, Bernadetta," Lorenz said, pulling her out of her speculation. "You look like you are formulating a new riddle; I must insist you share it."

"Oh, I… I wasn't…"

"Stop teasing her, Lorenz," Ferdinand said congenially. "You know she does not enjoy being teased."

That was… handled, then? If she wasn't expected to apologize for her missteps, then was she supposed to say anything to support Ferdinand's assertion?

The topic had moved on to hunting and fishing by the time she had thought that far. Something about the men going for some sport while Bernie and Lady Gloucester toured the rose garden. It had to be even more impressive than Bernie had thought, if they were planning an activity that would take at least half a day to do in the same time.

After such a stressful dinner, she resolved to excuse herself to her room afterward. But, not knowing what was polite in Gloucester Manor, what she actually did was pull Ferdinand aside as they all filtered back into the parlor. "It… has been a long day," she told him. "I thought I might go upstairs."

Ferdinand smiled at her and said, "I will make your excuses. I take it you would like some time alone?"

Bernie nodded.

He turned to the rest of the room and said, "Bernadetta is a bit tired from the ride. I will walk her up."

"Oh, I can--" Bernie protested as Ferdinand started to lead her out of the room.

"I will just walk you up," Ferdinand promised. "The house is large and I have been here before." When they had left the parlor, he added, "I would not crowd you when you wish to be alone; I just want to ensure you make it to our room without any difficulty."

She nodded and let him lead her upstairs and to their room. Ferdinand even asked if he could draw a bath or help her with anything before he left, which meant he already understood that she wanted him to leave. Bernie said no, but went to draw a bath anyway.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta kicked Ferdie out of their room as quickly as possible. On the stairs, he heard the rush of bath water running, even though his wife had said she didn't want one. It was hard not to think that she was sick of him.

He knew it was an unfair judgment. He knew that her seclusion was entirely predictable from the rumors of how she lived before their marriage. But he still wondered how he had made himself so repulsive that his wife wouldn't even let him help her with small tasks. He'd thought they were doing well. He'd thought they were gaining intimacy, that their separate sleeping arrangements really were just a misunderstanding and Bernadetta desired his company. He sat on the stairs for a few moments to wait out the feelings of being unwanted and useless, and then pulled himself together and went back to join the family for after-dinner conversation.

Lorenz was writing again, though he looked like he was rushing a bit. Lord Gloucester asked how Bernadetta was doing and Ferdinand smiled and said she would improve quickly with some rest.

"If she tires so easily, perhaps you should take her on a shorter ride," Lady Gloucester pointed out. "You must keep in mind that she has difficulty refusing people, and compensate accordingly."

"Physically, she seems very capable," Ferdinand pointed out. "We went for a ride in Enbarr, and you should have seen her when we reached the park! I could have mistaken her horse for a pegasus! I have only seen people ride so elegantly in competition; I am certain, for such an enthusiastic rider, some hard exercise will do her good." He had mistaken many of her opinions, but it was impossible to mistake such athleticism.

"Offer anyway," Lady Gloucester commanded. The part of Ferdinand that knew he had no obligation to her rankled. "Blame it on Lorenz if you have to; say he has thought of a better place to find elderberries, and take her to Whitehart Hill, but make the offer. She is in a very precarious state, and I do not believe she is the one who put herself there."

It reminded him of what his cousin Oren had said earlier in the week, about how women don't just weep and lock themselves in their rooms for no reason. It reminded him of that first ride with Bernadetta, when she had told him she could not return to her parents' household and teared up just thinking about it.

"I cannot have anything bad to say about my new relations," he reminded Lady Gloucester. "They are my family now." As much as he suspected them, as much as he was tempted to draw the story out of Bernadetta and hold them to task for the things they'd done, he couldn't do anything that would disrupt the small amount of tranquility Bernadetta had.

"That is why you must do what they surely would not, and offer her an easier ride if she wants it," Lady Gloucester said. "And why you must take pains to keep her from suspecting it is for her comfort."

Ferdinand nodded and said, "I understand." He wished he didn't. He wished Lady Gloucester couldn't see through him so easily, either. He changed the subject clumsily, saying, "Lorenz, what on Earth are you still writing over there?"

"Well, I have finally responded to my mail, and now I am writing requests to three of the best spas in Gloucester to ask about their availability. The day after tomorrow would be perfect, would it not? So I need to ensure that someplace I write will have an opening."

"Oh, thank you," Ferdie said. That was actually very kind of him. "I will look forward to you finishing your letters so we can play cards." He wanted to be with Bernadetta, to hold her or even just to tuck her in, fetch her a book, anything she needed, but she wouldn't even allow him to draw her a bath.

The evening dragged on. The four of them played cards and talked about the ride, new news from before they'd left Enbarr, all sorts of things that felt trivial while Bernadetta was exhausted and alone. Would she still want to keep their plans from earlier? Was she dreading it, but planning to go through with it, thinking it was for Ferdinand's sake? Ferdinand was woefully distracted, and even broke the game's rules a few times by mistake.

"You seem exhausted," Lady Gloucester said after the third round where it happened. "Go to bed, Ferdinand; it was a long ride for everybody."

"I will," he agreed. "It was so nice to play cards with everybody. And thank you again for having Bernadetta and me over."

"I will look forward to picnicking with you both tomorrow," Lorenz told him. "Especially if she is as good a rider as you say."

If it were just the two of them, he would have said: oh, Lorenz, my love for her only grows as I learn more about her! But Lorenz' parents were there, too, so he just said, "I promise you will not be disappointed. Good night, everyone; I will see you in the morning."

He left the room, ascended the stairs, took a deep breath, and knocked on his own bedroom door. "Bernadetta? It is only Ferdinand. May I come in?"

"Oh, um, yes," her soft voice responded, so Ferdinand opened the door and entered.

She was lying in bed in her shift and, for some reason, her stays. The covers were pooled loosely about her waist and she looked up from her book as he came in.

Ferdinand walked toward the wardrobe, trying to unclasp his cravat pin. "Lorenz asks if you would like to go to a good foraging spot he knows," he told her. "The ride would be easier, and we could gather lots of elderberries."

"Has he overpromised about his own riding skills?" Bernadetta asked, smiling. That was good; perhaps she had had enough time to rest and was truly feeling refreshed.

"No, I have ridden with him to the farther hills," he assured her. "But that is the thing: we have been to both the places we would take you. So we thought we would leave it up to you."

"You said the farther one had waterfalls?" Bernadetta clarified.

Ferdinand nodded.

"I would like to see a waterfall," she told him. "Varley's streams are mostly small, and the waterfalls are all just a trickle. If you are both feeling up to it, I would like to go on the longer ride."

Ferdinand felt no small amount of satisfaction for judging his wife's abilities so accurately.

"Speaking of being up for things," he said, putting his cravat away and pulling off his frock-coat, "Are you still looking forward to our plan for tonight? I will not disturb you if you need more rest, and I could probably use a bath, myself."

"I'm rested," his wife assured him cheerfully. "I've been waiting for you in this state, haven't I?"

Ferdinand glanced at her as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat, and smiled. "I suppose so," he agreed. "You do look very tempting. You make me want to find out for myself just what your chemise is hiding." Was that too lewd? It was nothing anybody would ever have said to her before. But she was the one who had tried to encourage those feelings in him…

"You should come and find out," she told him. Her voice was very soft, but she was still smiling. She kicked the covers down around her feet.

Ferdinand hung up his waistcoat and went to join her on the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow next to her. Bernadetta was laid out pretty as a picture, lying on her back with her far hand holding onto the pillowcase next to her head. Her chemise, which reached halfway down her calves when she stood up, was gathered around her body so that it only reached her knees, and the delicate fabric gave only the barest hints as to the shape of her body. Above her stays, her breasts looked soft and round, and the loose fabric of her chemise only made her shoulders look even smaller.

There was no uncertainty in Bernadetta's face. Ferdinand reached over to put a hand on her belly, sliding it across to her waist as he looked back at her face and smiled. "I could barely think about anything during dinner except for the ways you asked me to touch you in the garden," he told his wife. Under his hand, her flesh was soft and yielding, and even her slender hip had a good layer of muscle over the bone.

Everything about her was different from him. His own skin was more taut, almost like it was more dense.

"You can touch me back, if you like," Ferdinand pointed out. "I am yours in every way; you deserve to learn about me as I am learning about you"

"What have you learned?" Bernadetta asked.

"Your body is so soft," he told her. "It is incredibly nice to touch."

"And yours is hard?" she teased, but Ferdinand could think of one part of his body that was almost achingly hard, so it didn't feel like a very good joke.

"You can touch me however you like and find out," he teased back.

So far, his hand had explored her belly and rubbed over her hip. Now, he mused, "I wonder if you would like me to touch you the way I did in the garden," a warning in case she had decided against it.

"However you like," his beautiful wife said, and Ferdinand's mind stuttered a bit.

Her voice was still soft. Had she stuttered? If she had, was it the normal way every person tripped over words occasionally, or was it nerves? If it was nerves, did that mean she wanted him to stop, or just that the topic was embarrassing to talk about after so many years of being forbidden?

"What have you liked best so far?" Ferdinand asked, hoping to scope out Bernadetta's feelings since he knew so little about her. He brushed his thumb over her hip bone.

"I-- th-that is-- when you-- wh-when you… t-touched… my… Where do you like to touch?"

Ferdinand sighed. There was nothing shameful in sharing your marriage bed with your wife, but he had no intent of intimidating her in the process. "I wonder if even this kind of touching is too much," he told her, drawing his hand back over her belly. "I certainly have been enjoying it, but what if I take my bath and we just lie together for a while? Perhaps with my hand on your stomach."

"It cannot be too much when you are my husband," Bernadetta insisted. Strange that she should be confident in saying that, but not in saying what she enjoyed.

"Do we not have two weeks to devote to this?" Ferdinand asked. "Now is the time to learn everything we enjoy, but we cannot do that if we are not enjoying ourselves. I know I have tried your patience, my love, but please allow me just a couple days more, as I am as new to this as you are." He took her hand, curled loosely on the bed, and kissed the backs of her fingers.

With soft words and gentle, chaste kisses, he eventually convinced her that his plan was sound. He got up and went to the bathroom, stripped off his breeches and then everything else as the bath filled. He hummed an aria from  _ The Magic Flute _ , which they had seen together just last week. He quieted down as he… handled himself, not wanting to make Bernadetta feel any discomfort or urgency when he lay behind her.

He kept his bath short -- much shorter than usual, in fact -- because the temptation of lying down with his wife was so great. Her soft, pillowy stomach; her lightly scented hair; her hesitant hands that he nevertheless hoped would settle on his hand or arm.

He finally rose out of the bath and dried himself roughly, excited to join Bernadetta in bed, and then more carefully as he remembered she would hardly enjoy damp sheets. He put his drawers and shirt back on, hoping not to intimidate her by being too exposed (he was not ashamed of his body, but it would certainly be beastly to intimidate Bernadetta by wearing too little). Then he gave his hair a final dry with the towel, finger-combed it back into place, and returned to the bedroom.

Bernadetta was lying much as she had been before, her stays and stockings still on.

"I wonder," Ferdinand said, feeling his face go warm as he went to sit by his wife near the foot of the bed, "Have you kept your stockings on because you would like me to be the one who removes them?" He stroked the backs of his fingertips over her ankle.

"I did," Bernadetta admitted, and pulled her feet back so her knees rested several inches above the bed. The hem of her chemise rested just above her knees, now.

Ferdinand moved a few inches toward her, following those delicate stockings. He started with her right leg, closer to him, folding the soft material up onto Bernadetta's thigh so he could untie the ribbon underneath. He worked slowly and carefully, not wanting to surprise Bernadetta with any of his actions.

He did the same to the other leg, and then pulled both stockings down, slowly and carefully. When they pooled at Bernadetta's ankles, he worked them off over her feet. He left a kiss on her right knee and stood to place the garters on the nightstand and the stockings in the laundry hamper.

"Your stays, as well?" he asked as he approached her again. "My understanding is that they are not terribly comfortable to sleep in."

She turned on her side so he could untie the lace in the back. The bow he tied earlier had held, and came loose easily, and he tugged at the X's of the lacing to loosen it, then asked, "Is that enough? Will it come off now?" It seemed nice and loose, but shoulders could be bigger than they looked.

"It's good," Bernadetta mumbled, and sat up to pull the garment off over her head. Ferdie wasn't sure if he should help or not, if it would be gallant or creepy, so he stood back and waited to take the stays back to the wardrobe. He couldn't tell if the fabric was stiff from its reed lining or from dried sweat from the day's travel.

Bernadetta was still facing away from him when he returned, so he went to lie on the other side of the bed, facing her. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face when he remembered they were on their honeymoon. "We are alone and married," he reminded her. "We can do whatever we want."

Bernadetta turned onto her back and hugged her arms across her chest. "I am not… beautiful like you," she said. "I'm not beautiful at all, really. It's okay if you get upset when you see how my body looks. Or feel."

...Oh. Oh, that made sense of a lot of Bernadetta's shyness. "Some sort of scarring?" he asked. "A childhood accident?" Maybe a pox? He had seen her chest, though, and her arms and calves, and they had an almost creamy smoothness, barely even freckled. Surely, anything that left her skin… unusually textured would have left marks on more body parts than just her torso.

"I wish I had such a good excuse," she told him. "But no, my body just… grew into an ugly shape." She turned her head and looked down at Ferdinand's torso, covered by his shirt, then up at his face. "I'm not all lean and symmetrical and nicely proportioned like you. You won't find bodies like mine in artists' anatomy books."

Ferdinand reached out and caressed her shoulder. "Well, if it is not to my liking, I will just have a good excuse to look at your beautiful face," he told her. "But everything I have seen so far has been lovely, and I am glad you feel the same about me."

Bernadetta moved her arms so they covered her stomach instead of her chest. Ferdinand couldn't help himself; he rose to his elbow, like he had earlier when he had touched her, to get a better view of the outline of Bernadetta's breasts.

The general shape of them was every bit as soft as the tops that peeked out of her stays. Where Ferdinand's nipples were small, hers were large and sat on little mounds that poked out from the larger expanse of her breasts, the left one pointing straight up in front of her, the other pointing a bit to her right. "Can I touch them?" Ferdinand breathed before he remembered himself.

He lay back down on the bed. "I apologize," he told his wife. "We said we would just hold each other less intimately. I did not mean to be rude." He was glad to no longer be wearing real pants, but it seemed truly unfair that he had spent himself perhaps half an hour ago and felt so aroused again already.

"You can say what you really think," Bernadetta whispered, looking very intently at the ceiling.

"I think they look incredibly soft," Ferdie admitted. He didn't even try to stop himself. "I think I will say something very embarrassing if I keep talking, if I haven't already." What did they look like under her chemise? What did her stomach look like under her chemise, with its silky softness and the little mound at the bottom that he could see through her smock? Ferdinand had seen a stomach before, though: all one color, with a line of scraggly hair below the navel. The only breasts he had seen belonged to nursing women, and they were bruised, sometimes hard from being overfull with milk, and anyway those women were married and usually also family, not anyone Ferdinand could feel attracted to. Bernadetta, though… Ferdinand felt he could see the barest hint of pink through the delicate fabric of her shift, and couldn't tell if it was real or his imagination. He didn't want to look away.

"I know they're not very nice," Bernadetta told him in that almost desolate voice she used when she talked about herself. "I would be grateful if you'd pretend it wasn't an issue after today."

Ferdinand frowned. "I would hardly have reason to lie," he pointed out. "Perhaps I am no connoisseur, but I think they are just as cute as you are. And I would like to touch them as often as you will allow me."

"You can't just say things like that and expect me to believe you!" Bernadetta snapped. She jumped up and stood next to the bed and Ferdinand was too shocked to follow her. "How can you say I'm pretty and also that you'll always tell the truth? I've never been even a little bit pretty! I'm sure you think I'll hate you if you acknowledge all my faults, but I really won't; I'll just think you're truthful. But I can't take this! I can't take you lying to be kind to me and telling me it's the truth!" She crossed her arms to the opposite hips and grabbed handfuls of her chemise from about her waist. In a second, the garment was off and she stood naked in front of him. "Do whatever you need to! Laugh at me, mock me, do whatever you want, but don't lie to me. I don't know how to read you when you lie."

Her face was red and puffy with tears. She sniffled loudly.

Ferdinand didn't think. He didn't make a decision. He was just lying on the bed one moment, in shock, and the next he was hugging Bernadetta, his hands in no less chaste place than the backs of her shoulders.

It was time to pick his words carefully.

"I do not know who called you plain," he said. But, no, such a strong reaction merited stronger words. "Or… ugly. Who called you ugly. And I cannot know how often they said it, or how many ways they told you, or when you started to believe it so much that you could only look at yourself and see flaws. I cannot know how many people did that to you. But I do not know how to call you ugly any more than you know how to call yourself beautiful." He moved his right hand so it cradled Bernadetta's head against his chest. "I have been called useless and stupid a lot of different ways, and a lot of different times," he confessed. "So much that I believed it. And, seeing how powerless I was to change anything about what my father did in the Insurrection, it was very easy to believe. I am sure you have found many ways to confirm what you were told was true." He kissed the top of her head. "I find you astoundingly beautiful," he told his wife again, "and I will tell you so as often as it takes to help you believe it." He sighed and added, "I hope you will still be glad to share a bed with me tonight."

Bernadetta nodded, then paused. "Ferdinand… Are you…?"

"Ah." He pulled back from her a little. Right. "My apologies. It just… happens. I did not mean anything by…"

"Would you… Would you say there was nothing we could do to make ourselves feel worse right now?" Even half an arm's length from Bernadetta, it felt wrong to be able to see her nude body. Ferdinand was looking at her face, of course, but the possibility was there and it made him uncomfortable.

He smiled a little. "I suppose we could if we tried," he countered, "but I hope we will not."

"And you are… ready… and we do still need to consummate," Bernadetta said. Oh, this was bad. "What if we did it quickly? While you are still… like that, and we are both still miserable, and then it will be done? I will not bother you anymore, and perhaps it will help me relax while we are here."

Ferdinand frowned. "That seems… I do not like the idea that I might hurt you, or even upset you," he told her. She was so easy to upset.

"I already feel bad," she insisted. "I am not going to feel worse. We do not need to do it well; we just need to do it at all. Please."

Ferdinand, despite his better instincts, nodded.

Bernadetta nodded and walked to the bed. She lay down, still naked.

"Would you like your shift?" Ferdinand asked. "Since you are embarrassed about your… chest."

"Do it before we both lose our nerve," she insisted.

Ferdinand nodded. He reached under his shirt to untie his drawers and dropped them on the floor. It took several awkward seconds to negotiate the positions they would both lie in; perhaps, when you were on good terms with your spouse, it was fun to figure out how two bodies that fit together so awkwardly could best be arranged, but as it was, it just felt like an impediment to their already grim goal.

Bernadetta asked in a very small voice for him to start slowly, so when he was positioned over her and her legs were splayed to his sides, he leaned delicately forward. He could tell from her gasp, and the way she felt around his erection, that he had done it correctly. "Then many times," she told him, breathless. "Until you… Until your seed…" She bit her lip.

Okay. So, they had an end goal in mind. That was good. "I can do that," he assured her. If it would bring her peace of mind in the future, he would do that for her.

He wished he could say the experience brought him as much pleasure as those first moments, a week ago now, before he had lost his nerve the first time. Back when he had thought they were both enjoying themselves, both glad to be married despite their nerves, when Bernadetta had rolled her hips against his and his whole body lit up with excitement. But this time, tension knotted in Ferdinand's stomach. Bernadetta looked more determined than happy and Ferdinand wondered if, after such an upsetting experience, either of them would someday be able to enjoy it.

Perhaps they would if it truly did help Bernadetta to feel more secure.

Despite their mutual somber mood, Ferdinand did have a functional body that responded to physical sensation. It was not long before he was gasping, his hips thrusting all on their own, his hands gripping Bernadetta's shoulders tighter. Finally, his legs loosened, his stomach unclenched. It was done.

He lay on top of Bernadetta. He almost wanted to cry. "Is that all that is required for consummation?" he asked. He hoped the answer was yes. He wasn't sure he could bear to do anything else that gave her that almost-wincing expression she'd worn for the last couple minutes.

"Mm-hm."

He hated how small her voice was. He hated himself for making her voice so small. He hugged her, digging his hands under her back to hold her close to him, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck. "Then it's done," he confirmed. "There is no need to worry about it anymore. There is no need to do anything we don't want to after tonight."

"I don't feel like I'm bleeding," Bernadetta told him, still in a very small voice.

"We already provided the blood," Ferdinand reminded her. He could barely force himself through the consummation; if there was nothing more required, then he wanted to stop. "We can say I was as gentle as I knew how to be, and leave it at that." He relaxed his grip on her and pulled back from her. The cold air on his wet extremity was both disgusting and uncomfortable. He felt ashamed of himself. "I will go clean up. We will meet again in whatever state of dress or undress we feel most comfortable in." He tried a smile and wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. Bernadetta did something similar.

He sat up, stepped onto the floor, and picked his drawers up before retreating to the bathroom. He had a feeling he had done something very ignoble, even though Bernadetta had begged him to do it multiple times since they'd married.

He grabbed a washcloth and began running the hot tap. He didn't know if what he'd done was right or wrong, noble or ignoble. He had been told in vague terms about the joys of the marriage bed, but he had slept separately from his wife since they were married and he was very worried he had hurt her now that they had shared one.

No. Worry wasn't strong enough. He was scared. He was scared like a child, scared that he would be unsatisfied with the results of his own deliberate actions. He was pathetic.

"I am Ferdinand von Aegir," he told the man in the mirror. "I did what my wife asked me to." The man he spoke to looked respectable, determined. Nothing like the way Ferdinand felt.

He tested the water, found it scalding hot, and swore softly before turning it to a cooler temperature. He soaked the washcloth in warm water, wrung it out, and used it to rinse the… mysterious goop… off his member. He decided that any questions he had were best left for another time, and instead rinsed the washcloth off, pulled his drawers on and tied them, and trusted his face to look better than he felt as he returned to the bedroom.

Bernadetta was lying in bed in her shift again. The covers were pulled up to her waist and she held an open book over her stomach, not even pretending to read it.

"Are you alright?" Ferdinand asked. He didn't know if he was asking because of how Bernadetta looked or because he, himself, was miserable.

She nodded.

He didn't believe her.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, not moving toward the bed. "I need to know you are okay, or comfort you if you are not."

"Come to bed," Bernadetta said. Her voice was so small. Had she ever been unafraid of him? He thought maybe he had only been a source of fear for her, even back when their fathers arranged the engagement.

He walked around the bed to get in on the other side. He pulled the covers up to his waist, above the hem of his shirt.

He didn't know what to say. He had never been good with words, or with people. He'd hurt her, and if he hurt himself in the process, that didn't negate what he'd done to his wife.

His wife, who he'd sworn to love and protect.

"If you are too ill for a ride tomorrow, I will understand," Ferdinand said. He felt hollowed out. He felt lost.

Bernadetta put her book on the nightstand. She turned to look at him and said, "Thank you." She didn't look thankful. She didn't look relieved.

He didn't deserve her thanks. Maybe he never would again. "I wish I could have helped without hurting you." How empty did his words sound to her?

"You did help, though," she said, which finally surprised him.

Had they been talking about different topics?

"What did I help with?" he asked. "I only made you miserable. I think even more than before we started."

"But you did it," Bernadetta said. Her voice was toneless. She didn't look at him. "It can't be annulled. I can never be sent back." She started to cry as she spoke. She wept and Ferdinand reached toward her automatically to pull her into his arms. She willingly tucked her head against his shoulder and Ferdinand stroked her hair, then her back. He had enough younger cousins that he knew what to do for crying.

He felt like a failure. There should have been some other way to accomplish the same goal, and he should have found it. He felt guilty for the way his body relaxed when Bernadetta put an arm around him. It felt like acceptance. It felt like maybe, if he worked hard, he could fix what he had just broken.

He hummed a lullaby from an opera he'd watched years ago. Bernadetta quieted down and he fell asleep with his chest still feeling hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The rest of the story for A While is just more getting-to-know-you parts, I promise! :)


	5. Mushrooming and Spa Treatments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Bernadetta have a couple nice days to kick off their honeymoon in Gloucester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept this pleasant and fluffy chapter to make up for all that pain last week. <3
> 
> Side note: this chapter forced me to imagine how rudely I'd react if someone pointed to a tree that wasn't a California bay laurel and called it a "bay tree." Having whole forests of good bay leaves in my backyard is part of why I love living here! Word of God is that Gloucester has the weaker bay trees. ;)

Dawn came as it always did, bright and early, and Bernadetta woke to sunlight streaming through the south-facing window of the guest bedroom.

Her memory returned to her as she lay in bed: she was awake early because she had slept early, exhausted after she and Ferdinand consummated their marriage, exhausted after she had embarrassed herself so thoroughly in front of Ferdinand that he had agreed to consummate.

But, regardless of the circumstances, they had done it.

It was done.

She could have cried all over again. She was free of Father. Finally, after all this time, seventeen years and the longest week of her life, she was free. She finally knew with complete certainty that she would never have to live with Father again. And it had been so easy.

She had been pushed into it, even, pushed from being the incompetent heiress of a county to the wife of the future Prime Minister. One public ceremony and a few minutes of unenjoyable (but, surprisingly, not painful) physical intimacy, and she was free. Set to become a duchess. She'd spent longer getting tied to a chair than she'd spent tumbling with Ferdinand. If that was all there was to it, then she really didn't know what the big deal was about, especially from people who said it was horrible or tiresome. She would have done it twenty times over to get away from Father. It was easier than she could ever have anticipated.

She tried not to laugh, but she still woke Ferdinand with it.

"Mmh… 'ernadetta?" he asked in a gentle, sleepy voice. She had never seen him wake up before, and now it seemed a shame.

"Good morning," she said, trying to match his quietness. She shook with laughter.

"Oh, you're crying again." He reached for her face and she leaned into his hand. Was she crying? She supposed so.

"I'm just so happy," she told him. "We did it. We're married."

"You are happy?" he asked. His thoughts must come in slowly in the morning.

"Of course," she confirmed. "There is no way to claim that I am anyone's but yours." She barely knew him, but he had been good to her, aside from refusing to consummate for so long. It was easier to think about his good qualities without the possibility of annulment hanging over her head: he was gentle, considerate, compassionate… "And you have brought me to Gloucester, and we will go riding today." To cheer him up, since he looked upset as well as confused, she added, "And there is nobody in the world who can say I am not Bernadetta von Aegir."

Bernie was filled with an energy she usually only had the day after Father left for Enbarr, and that she had never felt so strongly. She was  _ excited _ for the first time since she-could-not-remember-when. She reached up to take Ferdinand's hand and kissed his palm before getting out of bed

"I am glad our ride will take so long," she told him. "I have so much energy now." She walked to the wardrobe and began pulling out her clothes for the day. "Oh-- do you think I should wear the yellow again, or was Lorenz serious about wanting to see the embroidery? Maybe green?" She had a very nice dress with a beige and sage green floral motif...

"Bernadetta, last night you were crying," Ferdinand said. He was still lying in bed. "You… You wept in my arms. Are you really okay?"

"I cried in relief," she told him. "I have never been so relieved in my life. I did not even realize it could be so powerful. I had even been told that consummation would be difficult and painful, but in the end, it was strange more than anything. Now that it's done, we can go on our picnic with no obligations, just enjoy each other's good company and the beautiful weather." She had liked his company on the ride up. She had liked Lorenz' company, too. Now, she was a married woman in every way, with a kind husband into the bargain.

She thought of how happy Ferdinand had been when she showed him a little extra consideration at breakfast yesterday morning, and after laying all her underthings out, she went and sat on the bed, her chemise out of place in a way that she hoped was attractive, and leaned down to kiss Ferdinand on the forehead.

She picked her stays up off the bed and wiggled them down over her breasts. She was nearly done tying the lace when Ferdinand started to get out of bed.

"If we have reached that milestone," he said as he went to the wardrobe to collect his own clothes, "do you still want me to look at you?"

Bernie turned to look at him. She had never thought about having a husband who would bother to ask.

"I liked it when you did it before," she told him. "It felt… closer."

His relieved smile felt nice to see.

"Now, yellow or green?" she asked again. "I was thinking of wearing colored stockings, since we will be riding." She nudged herself into place next to him and pulled both dresses toward her so Ferdinand could see them.

"Oh, the green," Ferdinand said almost immediately. "If only because my riding jacket is green and we will make a lovely pair. Save the yellow for when we are unlikely to get mud and dust all over ourselves."

Bernie pulled the green dress out and opened the drawer where she'd put her stockings to pull out some sage-green ones.

"I am a little surprised you have any dresses that are not embroidered," Ferdinand told her. He clearly meant it as a joke, but Bernie couldn't tell what the joke was.

"All my older dresses were," she told him as she sat down. "Some of them were so old, Mother had me get new ones and give them to my sisters." She couldn't walk around as a bride in dresses that showed how many times they'd been let out and let down.

After a few seconds, while Bernadetta was focused on her stockings and not looking up, Ferdinand asked, "What was your favorite one that you gave away?"

She hadn't thought about that. There had been too much else that she really cared about leaving. But… "There was one with orange stripes and pink flowers. It had been let out within an inch of its life; if I grew any more, it certainly would not have fit. But it always looked very cheerful."

"Do you expect to grow?" Ferdinand asked. "You are seventeen."

"You never know," she pointed out. "And it was a better day-dress for the country, anyway, where you spend more time foraging or walking on dusty roads. It really was pretty worn. But the fabric was nice." But there was nice fabric on her new dresses, too, and more evening gowns than she'd ever owned, and nice jewelry. And none of it belonged to Father.

"I knew you had given up a lot to marry me," Ferdinand said, and oh no, he was going to get all sentimental again, wasn't he? "Your home, everyone you know, everywhere you have been. I did not realize you gave up your clothes, as well."

"Only some," Bernadetta said, not really in the mood to be commiserated with over something that was not a burden. "And, anyway, my sisters got them. Especially Sandy, since she's still shorter than me." Ellie outgrowing her had been a betrayal of the highest order, but there was no stopping it.

"Oh-- that is Miss Melissandre?" Ferdinand asked.

"Yes, you might have seen her haunting the dessert table after the cake cutting," Bernie told him. "Ellie grew taller than me last year, which was very rude of her, but it does mean fewer of my dresses fit her."

"Very rude?" Ferdinand asked, and Bernie could hear him smiling.

She hopped down from the bed and went to put her petticoat on. "Yes, extremely rude," she told her husband. "Completely disrespectful of the fact that I am her older sister."

"So, you think the eldest sibling should always be tallest, and then the second the second-tallest, and so on?" Ferdinand clarified.

"Well, I was taller than her for the first fourteen years of her life, so it does shake up the balance of power, does it not?" she asked as she fluffed the skirt of her petticoat.

Ferdinand laughed very genuinely at that, and Bernie laughed, too. "So you see why I favor Sandy now: she still understands that her place is to be shorter than me." She reached into the skirt of her dress.

"Miss Eleonora was your bridesmaid," Ferdinand reminded her as her hands found their sleeves. "Yet she is your less favored sister?"

"Well, she outgrew me; you think she would show proper deference to her husband and stay shorter than  _ you? _ She would find a way to outgrow you if it killed her!" There. That was her dress put on, and now she tightened the waistband, with its pretty beige ribbon, and the neckline, with its cord that would get tucked inside the dress…

"I see nothing wrong with a future officer having a good, spirited wife," Ferdinand teased. "Though I am afraid that sort of competition would be lost on me. I much prefer one who can race me on horseback."

She didn't know what to say to that. It was such a personal compliment. She went to find a kerchief to keep the sun off her chest.

"Are you really sure I did not hurt you?" Ferdinand asked as he fumbled his cravat. "I do not mean to drag it out, but… I feel horrible. You really enjoyed yourself?"

"No, of course not," Bernie said. Why would he expect it to be enjoyable? "But it was not painful, which I had been told it always was, and more than it was upsetting, it was… boring? I assume we will both get better at it as time goes on. Not that boring is bad!" She couldn't let him think she was less satisfied than she was. "I had expected it to be bad, so it was a relief. I was just thinking, earlier this morning, how I would have done it many more times if I had needed to and not batted an eye. I had been afraid of nothing at all." Unless she had gotten pregnant, but how likely was that on the first try?

"Then I will put it out of my mind," Ferdinand promised her. "I will try to stop asking for answers you have already given me. I am very glad you feel well this morning."

That should have been the end of it, but Ferdinand's voice didn't sound right. "And you?" Bernadetta asked quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"I will feel better when my heart catches up to my head," Ferdinand said, which was such strange phrasing that Bernie wasn't quite sure she knew what he meant. "When I see you enjoying yourself today, I think I will be able to relax."

"It will be worth it," Bernie promised, trying to project confidence she didn't feel. "We don't even have to think about it anymore, if we don't want to. We can just ride, and enjoy the hillside, and have a nice picnic lunch."

Ferdinand finally reached for his cravat pin. Bernie was glad; he had really seemed to be struggling for a minute there. He said, "I am certain the beautiful landscape and some fresh air will rejuvenate us both," and Bernie didn't mention that she already felt perfectly fine.

.-._.-._.-._

At last, all the arrangements had been made, their three backpacks stuffed with hand-pies and pickles and fruit, extra waterskins tucked into their mounts' saddlebags. All three of them had breakfasted, Bernadetta wondering if there was some secret signal she was supposed to give Lady Gloucester to communicate that her marriage was sealed. Two armed servants were sent along, with lunches of their own, to watch the horses and ensure nothing unexpected happened. Finally, it seemed they were all ready to go.

It wasn't a day for racing. The ride would be long, and they would be hiking up a hill into the bargain. But Bernie had only ridden twice in the last week, and she wanted to canter.

The first few miles were on the road, first the main road, away from the town, and then a smaller one, clearly used by farmers. Gloucester Duchy was mostly low flatlands, so the hills they were headed to were clearly visible long before they arrived, even before the small road branched off into little more than a deer trail. The men had been right: even at a trot, the ride was tiring enough that Bernie knew she'd want a good, hot bath in the evening, and a filling dinner, too. When she tied her horse up by the stream that flowed out of the gulch where she was hoping the waterfall was, with Lorenz instructing the guards to "eat when you like and don't bother waiting for us," and taking an empty basket with him for some unknown reason, she was glad she had woken with so much energy.

Ferdinand looked a little more spirited, too.

"It starts a bit steep, but then it will lead us along the sides of the hills," Lorenz promised as they huffed and panted their way up a difficult path. At least there was forest around them, so they were in shade. They had already crossed the stream their horses had been left to drink from.

The path did even out, more or less, and Bernie was able to look around. There were trees all over that she'd only seen by riverbeds, alders and willows, and altogether too many maples compared to the oak and pine forests Bernie was used to. The forested hillside smelled rich and damp, and the tree cover seemed to go on for miles.

Lorenz squawked and Ferdinand jumped and took Bernie's hand. But a moment later, Lorenz clambered off the path, calling, "Do you see this? Ferdie, do you  _ see _ this?" and pulling out his pocket knife.

Ferdinand smiled at Bernadetta, then called to his friend, "Do you want to carry them all the way out and back? We will pass other elder bushes!"

Completely disregarding the warning, Lorenz called, "Have you ever had elderberries, Bernadetta?"

"I think so," she told him. He was busily cutting sprays of little gray berries off the tree and dropping them into his basket. "Weren't the elderberries at the other hill?"

"Most of them! But not these! And so close to the trailhead, too!" He seemed completely indiscriminate about which bunches he cut off the bush. Bernie wasn't sure she'd heard of berries that were worth getting excited over, but which you didn't eat while picking them.

"We have ground to cover," Ferdinand called. "Forage on the way back!"

"Sorry, did you  _ not _ want elderberry jam with dessert tonight?" Lorenz asked. "I can tell Ms. Farine you wanted me to just  _ leave _ such beautiful elderberries!"

"So we can finish our walk and eat her delicious hand-pies," Ferdinand corrected. "I believe the elderberries will still be beautiful when we double back this way!"

They bickered good-naturedly, and Bernadetta even thought of a comment or two to tease both of them, and then Lorenz returned with a layer of elderberries in the bottom of his basket. Both men immediately rounded on Bernadetta, insisting that she had to try elderberries in seemingly every type of dessert ever created, coming up with more as they continued the walk that Lorenz had interrupted.

"How can you be so excited when you do not even want to eat them?" Bernie asked, and reached into Lorenz' basket without him seeing and popped one one of the little things into her mouth.

And spit it out just as Ferdinand told her not to eat it.

"That was horrible!" she insisted as Ferdinand put a hand between her shoulder blades and Lorenz turned around to see what Ferdinand was yelling about.

"Oh, no, did you eat one?" Lorenz asked.

Bernie nodded and said, "It's awful!"

"Yes, the bitterness cooks out," Lorenz said, removing his backpack. "Here, I have the pickles; that should kill the taste."

"We should have warned you," Ferdinand said. "In a sauce or a jelly, I promise they are delicious. Fresh… not so much."

"There should be blackberries ahead, which do taste good," Lorenz said, and handed her a slice of pickle that she immediately put into her mouth. It was well seasoned and did overwhelm the bitterness and general grossness of the elderberry. "We can pick our fill of those, and bring back even more. But these are not blackberries."

With her mouth full of the flavor of spices and brine, and with the pickle jar loaded safely back into Lorenz' pack, the three resumed their hike. Lorenz fell easily into the role of their guide, pointing out plants he knew the names of, and especially flowers. When they crossed meadowed areas, there were sometimes great swaths of hillside that were covered in flowers, and so many kinds that even Lorenz didn't know all their names. Passing a small waterfall, Lorenz declared they were "close to that mushrooming spot, Ferdinand, and then I will need your help!" and they all paused to appreciate the stream and then Lorenz and Ferdinand descended on the thick, spiky vines nearby.

"Have you ever had blackberries, Bernadetta?" Ferdinand asked, touching some of the many-segmented berries.

"I think. Not often." They were a little tart for her taste.

"Eat this," her husband said, and handed her a berry so soft it was almost falling apart. When she looked between her hand and her husband, he added, "To make up for that elderberry problem earlier."

She ate the berry.

It was sweet, astoundingly sweet, and broke apart when she crushed it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. It was not any less flavorful for its sweetness, and it was unmistakably a blackberry.

"Good, right?" her husband asked, and she realized she'd closed her eyes. She opened them and nodded. "You just want to look for ones that want to come off the vine," he told her, guiding her toward the brambles Lorenz was still standing in front of. "That means they are ripe. If they resist you, they will be tart."

All three of them spent the next few minutes investigating the blackberry brambles. Some were a bit tart and some were so ripe they tasted sort of bruised, but Bernie had never eaten such good berries before, much less ones she'd picked herself.

When they had exhausted the supply of fully ripe berries, they continued on their way, Lorenz leading yet again. For someone who insisted on foraging ingredients for the cook, he had certainly not tried to convince them to put any berries into his basket.

He was just telling them that they were going to lunch in a probable mushrooming spot when they came across a stream with no bridge at all. "Oh, so soon!" Lorenz exclaimed, though Bernie felt like a rest would probably be good.

"Let's see if we can even get across," Lorenz said, looking very intently at the stream. It did have a little fall a bit downstream that crashed and babbled very nicely.

Lorenz and Ferdinand discussed the rocks in the streambed and which ones could make a path, not even bothering to ask Bernadetta her opinion as someone who had grown up in rocky mountains. It served them right that they barely noticed her walking a couple yards downstream, crossing via three (well, four, but the last was practically on the shore) rocks that were larger than most of the ones they'd been discussing, and only bothered to look up when Bernie said, "I don't see why it's giving you so much trouble" from the other side.

The way Ferdinand's eyes widened in shock was very fun to watch, though.

"Where did you find a crossing?" he asked, looking confused enough that he was probably calculating whether she could have just jumped the stream.

"It's a kind of magic," Bernie bragged unhelpfully. "You learn it from walking in the mountains." Did they think the little hills here would pose any real problems to her? That was preposterous. "I'm going to go watch the waterfall for a bit." It was certainly bigger than any of the others they'd passed.

It was only a few minutes until Lorenz and Ferdinand joined her on the other side, by the waterfall, but it was a very smug few minutes and Bernadetta enjoyed it immensely.

It occurred to her -- after the gentlemen had crossed, naturally, since none of her thoughts ever came to her in a timely manner -- that Ferdinand and Lorenz might think she had played too mean a trick on them, but just as she was starting to get worried, they congratulated her and started laughing at their own, lesser abilities, and Bernie managed not to apologize so much they became uncomfortable.

Lorenz hadn't lied -- it wasn't long until they came to a space just large enough to eat their lunches, and Ferdinand pulled a blanket out of his pack to lay on the ground and Lorenz and Bernadetta laid out the food. They'd taken short breaks along the way to have a drink of water, but it was getting on to mid-afternoon and real food was very welcome. The hand-pies were rich and delicious, and went well with mixed pickles; the apples were juicy and tart. Then Lorenz stood, picked something up off the ground a few yards away, and returned.

"Have you ever had chanterelles?" he asked as he handed her a yellow, trumpet-shaped… mushroom?

"I don't think I've even heard the name," she told him. She wondered if the foods and herbs that were common in the Oghmas were as foreign to Lorenz as the ones in Gloucester were to her.

"Delicious mushrooms, and this is a very good hill for them," he told her. "I won't ask either of you to help, but we will certainly be done a lot faster if you do."

Ferdinand cleaned up the lunch things and Bernadetta went mushrooming. Eventually, she asked if either of the men minded if she tied her skirt up around her knees, and even Lorenz said it was fine, so she knotted her petticoat and dress skirts up under her hip to keep them from getting any more forest litter on them.

The mushroom hunt went spectacularly. Lorenz' basket, already partly full of elderberries and leaves he insisted were bay laurel (he was wrong about that), was filled to the top with chanterelle mushrooms, with Bernie's pack holding even more. They started back in good spirits, looking forward to a mild hike that would primarily lead them downhill, and Bernie showed the men the crossing she'd found for the little stream.

The walk was just as beautiful on the way back, though the sun shone more directly on them. Lorenz pointed out some rose brambles down the hillside at a couple points, and by the time they returned to the horses, Bernie's feet were starting to get sore. It felt good to get so much exercise.

Ferdinand gave her a leg up, which was very sweet of him, and then mounted his own horse, and Lorenz clicked his tongue at his gelding and led the way back.

The ride back was subdued. The sun was warm and they had all mutually decided to walk instead of trotting. They returned through an empty field, through farm roads, and then back along the main road, the same route as their journey out. When they reached the stable, Lorenz declared he was taking a cold bath when he got inside, and Ferdinand agreed that it didn't sound like a bad idea.

They stabled their horses, removing tack (thankfully, neither man asked Bernie if she needed help carrying the saddle; it was heavy, but she was capable, and it was nice not to be questioned) and brushing their horses down and checking their hooves. Lorenz and Ferdinand were both in the habit of talking to their horses, and Bernie didn't mind, either; she found it calmed her and the horse alike.

At last, they all made their way upstairs. Lorenz scolded his friend for even thinking about taking the first bath, but when they got to their room, Bernie admitted that she would prefer to lie down for a bit and rest her feet before she got a bath. While Ferdinand shut himself in the bathroom and started the taps, she dug out her embroidery and a hoop and reclined on a chaise by the window as she sewed a spray of oak flowers onto the cover of her next journal. She flexed her feet every few minutes, finally feeling the soreness in them.

Ferdinand eventually came out of the bathroom, looking very refreshed. He asked after her project and expressed surprise that oak trees had flowers at all, which was pretty consistent with Mother yelling at her for braiding oak flowers into her hair when she was young. They weren't a  _ real _ flower, not pretty like other flowers. Bernie liked them just the same, the sweet pink color and the way they fell in chains.

She went to take a bath.

.-._.-._.-._

Tuesday dawned bright and early. Bernadetta had let him lay an arm over her side as they slept, which felt warm and secure, nothing like the distant feeling of the previous night. They had a reservation, as of the previous afternoon, at one of Lorenz' favorite bathhouses, and Lady Gloucester insisted on letting them take a carriage. They set out after lunch for the Rose and Rush Inn and Bathhouse, one of many similarly named bathhouses that catered to visitors who came to Gloucester for their health or for fun.

"Did you hurt your knee yesterday?" Bernadetta asked as they rode through town. Ferdinand hadn't even realized he was rubbing his leg.

He tried a smile, which he knew didn't succeed. "I hurt it years ago," he admitted. "Just some youthful carelessness and a flighty horse. But it still gets sore sometimes. I think this means I need to ride more; when I did that route with Lorenz before, I was more active and it did not hurt me nearly as much."

"I heard you had trouble eating before the wedding," Bernadetta told him with a small smile that he chose to interpret as sympathy.

Ferdinand nodded. "I had no idea what to expect of you. Your letters were beautiful, but I would never have imagined you were even more sweet and elegant than they led me to believe." He had tried to put as much character into his letters as he could so she would know what to expect. Her letters had seemed more polished, more reserved. It made sense with her shy personality, but it hadn't helped Ferdinand imagine her.

"You say that sort of thing all the time," Bernadetta pointed out, looking down.

"Only when I think about it," Ferdinand told her with a smile. It was true; he thought about how pretty she was all the time. He looked out the window. "This is going to be so much fun, Bernadetta. Lorenz knows all the best places. I am certain we will come out of it smelling of roses and at least one ingredient we do not know how to pronounce, feeling very refreshed and relaxed." A massage sounded excellent after a full afternoon of hiking and riding.

He did worry, a bit, that a couples' spa day would be harmful, that Bernadetta would feel too exposed, just as she had before they consummated their marriage. But she said she felt better since then, and he was the one who couldn't stop thinking about her tearing off her chemise and begging him to demean her, so it was probably only a problem to him.

"What do they… do… at fancy bathhouses?" Bernadetta asked.

"Skin care and relaxation, mostly," Ferdinand told her, drawing on his own, very limited, experience and things he'd gleaned from Lorenz. "We will certainly be subjected to a bath with some sort of herb or oil floating in the water -- probably rose petals -- and hopefully get a few minutes to steam in a sauna room, and if there is no massage involved, I will be very disappointed. They like to call everything a 'therapy' or 'treatment,' but that is just to make it all seem important."

Bernadetta nodded, looking very subdued.

"I do not--" Ferdinand started, and then the carriage lurched to a stop and the driver knocked on the roof. "I do not have to look at you if you feel embarrassed," he finished quickly before opening the door, and then nodded to her as he got out. Appearances were important to her, and doing everything properly, so they couldn't take too long getting out of the carriage.

Bernadetta hung onto his arm as they made their way to the reception desk. Ferdinand almost wished it could be the other way around, with the soreness in his knee. He presented their reservation card and they were taken through a door to a long hallway and then to a small room with tiling on the floor and walls, and given thick, cushy dressing gowns and told they could shower and change at their leisure. Then they were left alone, truly alone, for the first time since they'd gone down to breakfast that morning.

"As I was saying in the carriage," Ferdinand said as he unfolded his dressing gown, "if you wanted me to look at you in… more intimate ways… only because you hoped it would lead to consummation, or if you have any other reason why you would not like my eyes on you, I will do my best to look away." He removed his frock-coat, a nice salmon-colored one that looked very cheerful in the summer sun.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Bernadetta said. "You helped me."

"Yes, and a very fine job I did of that," Ferdinand agreed sarcastically. "I saw your face, Bernadetta. I would understand if you never wanted to speak to me again."

They undressed in silence for a few moments, Ferdinand careful to keep his eyes on his own clothes.

"It was only a couple minutes," Bernadetta said quietly, at last. "I can think of very few things you could do in that time that would be that bad. If you… If there was something wrong with  _ me _ that you didn't like, then treat me however you want. Ignore me, don't look at me, whatever. Goddess knows, I've known I was undesirable for long enough. But don't do it because you think I want you to, when I haven't said anything of the kind."

She sounded calmer than almost any time Ferdinand had talked to her. He looked over and she was just pulling her dress off over her head, the same one as yesterday, green leaves on natural linen.

"Haven't said it, or haven't felt it?" Ferdinand asked quietly. "You often try to endure things that you hate." It made Ferdinand feel like a villain, constantly pushing her beyond her limits, when he was doing his best to respond to what he thought she wanted.

"I prefer what we did Monday night to living with the fear of our marriage being annulled," she said, changing the topic completely. "I prefer it infinitely. I would do it again in a second if the stakes were the same, and I wouldn't regret it."

"But how do you feel now?" Ferdinand asked. "How do you feel now that there is no need to tempt me into consummation? I want you to feel comfortable around me, so what do you want?"

After a very long pause, too long, long enough that Ferdinand wondered if he should look at his wife to see if she looked too upset to stay, she said, "I want you to look at me and like what you see. If that's impossible for you, I understand." Her voice shook. Ferdinand glanced over and she was in her chemise and stays, her foot braced on the table in front of her as she removed her right stocking.

"Can I hold you?" he asked quietly. "Right now, I mean."

"You can do whatever you want," Bernadetta said. She moved her foot to the floor without untying the sock garter. "I would like it if you did, though."

Ferdinand walked behind her and leaned over her, one hand across the top of her chest, the other across her stomach. "My feelings have not changed," he told her quietly. "You are astoundingly beautiful. I hope you will not argue with me again."

After a few seconds, Bernadetta wrapped her arms around his. Then, very quickly, she turned around and buried her face in the ruffles of Ferdinand's shirt.

"You don't know what it's like," she said. She was definitely crying now. Ferdinand had been grappled more gently than the hug she held him in. "When you're bad at everything, and marriage is your only way out, and you aren't even pretty enough for that."

"I don't," Ferdinand agreed. "But I do know how it felt to be told I was bad at everything." It was uncomfortable to admit, infinitely too personal, but Bernadetta had been through the same thing, right? She didn't seem to mind that he was clumsy and his interests were common and his talents were vanishingly few as long as he wasn't cruel to her, and even with all his bad qualities, he knew he had never been cruel.

"I like horses too much," Ferdinand said to fill the silence that was otherwise only filled with the sound of Bernadetta's muffled sobs. He stroked her hair absently. "More than a future Prime Minister should. And I speak too frankly and never catch on when other people are trying to be subtle. I like to talk to everyone, not just people of my station, but stablehands and glass blowers and gardeners and tea importers. Everything I am good at, fencing and dancing and vanishingly little else, I had to work at endlessly just to become competent. If you are willing to say there is more to me than that, that there is anything worthwhile about me, then I will insist you begin to believe the same about yourself." It was a gamble. It was dangerous. His bad qualities had never been laid out before her so plainly; his stomach turned with the knowledge that she could reject him right now in disgust. But he couldn't bear not to offer help when his wife was so miserable. He wouldn't be worthy of his name if he didn't.

Bernadetta, though, just nodded and continued to cling to him. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, and spoke softly to her like he did to his horse. He wondered if he, too, would have hidden in his room all day and acted so fearfully if he had been allowed so little hope.

When she began to quiet, he said, "I think they will suspect something is wrong if we take too long. Should we shower together?" He was marginally more dressed than she was, but it would be quick work to undress.

"Oh… Oh, yes," his wife said, pulling away from him. She reached behind herself and pulled the lace of her stays.

"Allow me," Ferdinand offered, and ducked behind her to loosen them more. Then he returned to his side of the room, not wanting to be intrusive when Bernadetta seemed so fragile, and began to unbutton his breeches.

They were ready at about the same time, naked and real. Ferdinand started the water. Bernadetta moved confidently, but her eyes shifted around. "If you must know," Ferdinand said, trying to sound like he was telling her a secret, "I was telling you the complete truth when I said how soft your skin is. I find you captivating." Her belly didn't have that little bit of hair leading down from the navel, or at least not nearly as much as Ferdinand's. Fascinating.

"Is yours so hard?" she asked, smiling a little nervously, and reached out and touched Ferdinand's stomach.

A little thrill of excitement ran through his body. "You have to press," he told her. "It's more… yielding." He pressed his hand over hers for a moment, and she took the cue and pushed with the whole of her hand instead of her fingertips. "You see the different texture?"

She put her hand on her own belly, near her hip. "I do," she agreed. "How weird…"

The water was warm, finally. Ferdinand stepped into the spray and splashed water under his arms, grabbed the soap. When he and Bernadetta were mostly done and rinsing themselves off, he said, "Oh… I think we were supposed to shower  _ together _ . As a  _ couple." _

After a short pause, Bernadetta said, "We were supposed to do a lot of things together that were delayed," and gave her hands a final rinse and stepped away from the shower spray to grab a towel.

Ferdinand was done soon after, and turned off the water and did the same. Then they were both in their plush dressing gowns that belted with the same, slightly stretchy, material.

A woman with spring green hair met them outside and led them to a room where several patrons were getting various pastes and creams and oils applied to their hands and feet. Ferdie and Bernadetta sat next to each other, and the woman went to fetch them some water they hadn't asked for. Another worker approached and asked if they were there for the couples' package, and Ferdinand confirmed.

They got hand  _ and _ foot treatments, as it turned out, starting with some sort of rough, scraping paste on their feet and lower legs that was rinsed off and then replaced with a silky rose-scented lotion. There was some mention of the healing or rejuvenating or relaxing properties of roses that went right over Ferdinand's head, but he figured he didn't have to understand  _ why _ it was good for his skin when he knew it felt good. The water was flavored with cucumber and citrus and was very refreshing.

Bernadetta seemed more uncomfortable with strangers touching her, even though it was just her feet at first. She seemed to be allowing it, rather than enjoying it. Even her comment of, "Oh, that feels nice, actually" when the woman assisting her rubbed lotion onto her feet and legs, explaining the health benefits in a way that, presumably, regular spa patrons would understand, sounded more nervous than surprised, like she was just speaking to fill any silence.

Next, a similar procedure was performed on their hands: a finer, but no less abrasive, paste (this time, he caught that it was called a 'scrub,' which seemed apt) was applied to the backs of their hands and their forearms, then they were sent to a standing sink to rinse it off, and then excessive amounts of lotion were rubbed into their arms and hands. Apparently, spa treatments were a very slippery business, a fact which Ferdinand had completely forgotten since the last time he'd been to one.

Ferdinand was amused, but Bernadetta looked to be around her limit. Ferdie hoped she would relax when there was no longer anyone touching her, and was glad when they were led to a small room which held, as Ferdinand had predicted, a large bath with vaguely pink, murky water and red rose petals floating on top.

The worker ensured they knew where the towels were and that there was nothing wrong with getting in with all the lotion still on, and then told them they would have thirty or forty minutes in there and then left.

Ferdinand was very proud of himself for only laughing when he and Bernadetta were alone.

"This really is the height of silliness," he pointed out. "From somewhere should come music." He pulled at the belt of his dressing gown. "I wonder, does it feel strange, or does it just leave your skin feeling nice?" He shed his dressing gown, folded it hastily on a side table, had another sip of citrus-cucumber water, and went to get in the bath.

"What's the foam around the edges?" Bernadetta asked. Her dressing gown was still belted and she winced as she looked at the water.

"For all I know, it cost extra," Ferdie joked. When he put his foot in, the water was nice and hot. "Somehow, I think this is a bit more than people usually mean when they go somewhere to 'take the waters.' It feels lovely; no need to be shy." He balanced most of his weight on his left leg and held onto the side of the tub as he lowered himself in.

He didn't watch Bernadetta remove her robe and he didn't watch her get in. It didn't seem like the noble thing to do. But he did smile at her once she'd joined him, and her breasts weren't really disguised by the slight murkiness of the pink water.

"I feel like… I feel like we're supposed to be doing something romantic?" Bernadetta guessed. "But I have no idea what it could be."

"We could just talk," Ferdinand suggested. "Now that we have had the chance, I know that I enjoy talking to you."

"Could I just… lean against you for a minute?" Bernadetta asked. "Without crying or worrying or any of that?"

"I would love that," Ferdinand told her sincerely. She moved so her head was on his chest and lost no time tracing little swirling patterns on his knee with her finger.

"Could I hold you against myself?" Ferdinand asked. It seemed the natural thing to do, in such a position, but he could imagine it making her uncomfortable.

Bernadetta nodded, though, so Ferdinand slung his arm over her shoulder, across her chest, to her waist. Then he kissed the top of her head.

Bernadetta hummed, and Ferdinand recognized the tune as one he'd heard at summer festivals and joined in. They relaxed, idly discussing St. Cethleann Day, country festivals, and their favorite summer foods.

"Do you think we are allowed to pop the rose petals?" Ferdinand asked. "Do hot rose petals pop?"

"How do you pop rose petals?" Bernadetta asked.

"I was never much good at it," Ferdinand warned, grabbing one of the larger petals from the surface of the water. "Lord Gloucester is the champion, followed by Lorenz. Must be something about the shape of their hands. Now, you curl your hand like this to give the petal a place to rest…" He cupped his hand around hers, then rested the petal on the circle made by her forefinger and thumb. "Then you curve your other hand like this and clap down on it." Bernadetta did exactly what he said and was rewarded with a loud  _ pop _ and a tear in the middle of the petal.

"They do pop!" Ferdinand exclaimed, delighted.

"What's the point of it?" Bernadetta asked, smiling as she set the petal back down in the water.

"Usually, to amuse children for a few minutes," Ferdinand admitted. "And see who can do it the loudest. I would try, but my hands are very nicely engaged." He gave her a small squeeze with the hand that had returned to holding her.

Bernadetta giggled, a response right out of a novel or a comic opera, which was very reassuring.

There was a knock on the door and a woman said their massage therapists would be ready for them in five minutes.

Ferdinand kissed Bernadetta's head again. "Oh, that will be delightful," he remarked as she started to pull away from him and stand up.

"Can I opt out?" Bernadetta asked as she brushed water and errant rose petals back into the tub. "I've had enough of strangers touching me for one day."

"No one will force you," Ferdinand pointed out, following her out of the bath. Wow, rose petals liked to cling, didn't they? "It is more relaxing than all the strange things they put on us before the bath, though." He grabbed a towel and started on his arms.

"Maybe I can if it's a quieter room," Bernadetta said in the small voice that meant she didn't want to stand up for herself.

"If you feel uncomfortable, I will back you up completely," Ferdinand assured her. "There must be another way to kill time at a spa." It wasn't lost on him that she was at her limit for physical contact, and yet she had enjoyed leaning against him as they bathed. He felt very special.

Before long, there was another knock and the worker asked if they were decent. They answered yes and the same woman with the spring green hair came in to guide them down another hallway (Ferdinand had completely lost his sense of direction at some point in this process and was grateful for the help) to a small, windowless room with lamps in each corner and two massage tables in the middle.

The masseuses greeted them and asked if there were any particular areas to focus on, so Ferdinand mentioned that he needed his right leg avoided completely and had some tension in his shoulders while keeping half an ear on Bernadetta's conversation. After he had shaken his masseur's hand and thanked him in advance for his work, he turned to Bernadetta's masseuse and said, "My wife gets a bit overwhelmed sometimes when she has too much contact with strangers. Is there a good way for her to signal to you if she needs you to stop?" He was glad they were in Gloucester, the city all of Liecester went to when their doctors found them anxious or hysterical; it meant these people had probably heard stranger requests.

The masseuse said she would be sure to ask frequently and that Bernadetta could tap on the massage table if she needed her to stop, which seemed reasonable. The masseuses left and Ferdinand and Bernadetta removed their dressing gowns once again.

"She said I can have the sheet over me the whole time, if I want," Bernadetta said as she settled on the table, covered to her waist by the madder-red sheet there. "Is it more relaxing if you let them touch your skin?"

"It is more relaxing if you feel more comfortable," Ferdinand advised, trying to position his shoulders just right so his face was in the special pillow and his neck felt relaxed. "You can get a perfectly good massage through a sheet." Would she believe him? She often didn't believe him if she thought there was a way she 'should' do something, even if the alternative was completely normal.

After listening to her dither for a few moments, he said, "Here, I will join you," and turned to pull his own sheet up to cover his shoulders. The only problem then was that he had to position himself in relation to the face pillow again.

He heard the shift of fabric and Bernadetta settling and resettling herself, and had just relaxed into place when the masseuses returned.

He allowed himself the luxury of not listening for Bernadetta's distress while he received a massage. He trusted that the woman massaging her had seen enough anxious people to know what she was doing, and simply answered his masseur's questions about whether he'd like to stay covered for the duration and then enjoyed having his back and shoulder muscles kneaded. Having it done through cloth was a new experience, but altogether enjoyable. And, judging by the lack of either screaming or panicked apologizing, it was completely fine that he kept his mind only on his own thoughts and his masseur's voice.

It was a nice, long time until it was done. When the masseuse said their time was up and they could relax in the sauna for as long as they liked, and then both people left, Ferdinand took a moment to just breathe. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his feet, then turned to sit on the table.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked Bernadetta, who was already up and belting her dressing gown. He felt like he was coming out of an altered state, returning his attention to the whole room instead of just one half of it.

"Very much," she said. "She just did my head and hands, and then my shoulders for a while, and I liked it. Oh, and my feet -- didn't it feel nice getting your feet rubbed after yesterday?"

"It did," Ferdinand agreed, though he had been more relaxed by getting the mess that was his shoulders sorted out. "I am very glad you enjoyed your first massage."

Bernadetta continued conversationally, more vocal than Ferdinand had ever heard her when she wasn't upset, which should have been a clue that she was, outlining the things she had been worried about and why they didn't end up being problems. The green-haired woman (Ferdinand really had to learn her name) led them to a cedar-paneled sauna room and told them to take as much time as they'd like and then they could go retrieve their clothes whenever they wanted.

"Well, do you think Lorenz will feel satisfied that we have had the full Gloucester spa experience?" Ferdinand asked as he and Bernadetta sat next to each other.

"I hope so," she said. "I wouldn't want to have to do it again."

"Oh, do you know the Count's family?" a cheerful voice asked. Ferdinand immediately looked up at the other occupants of the steam room, a petite woman and burly man with bright pink hair and a man who looked similar to both of them, but with peachy hair. "What a little coinky-dink; we just arrived in town a few weeks ago and were about to write. Will we see you at the dance tomorrow?"

The man with peach hair said, "You will have to excuse my sister; she has always been a bit outgoing."

"Oh, right," the woman said, then nodded at them and said, "Hilda Goneril. Pleasure to meet you. And these are my brothers, Holst and Otis." She gestured to them. The burly one was Holst and the one who had made her apologies for her was Otis.

"Ferdinand von Aegir," Ferdinand said. "And this is my wife Bernadetta, recently von Varley."

"Very nice to meet y--" Holst said, but was interrupted by his sister.

"So, are you coming to the dance? The Ordelias always make a big show of throwing the best party of the Season, and this year, everyone's saying they waited months to let their daughter, Lysithea, come out just so this could be her party. It's gonna be amazing!"

"Yes, we will be coming with Lorenz," Ferdinand told her. "Perhaps Bernadetta can get the second dance, as a new bride." He was about to continue, but was cut off by Miss Goneril's theatrical gasp.

"Oh, are you here on a honeymoon? Oh, that's so romantic!" She leaned toward them, looking at Bernadetta. "Men can't get within ten yards of me without my brothers glaring them down -- you see what wet blankets they are."

Otis hissed, "Hil," and elbowed her.

"Am I wrong?" she asked. She turned back to Ferdinand and Bernadetta and continued, "We've been here almost three weeks and this is the first dance we'll be going to! Apparently, almost nobody is good enough for their baby sister!"

"They will think you are starved for attention," Mr. Goneril chided, smiling. "I have watched you flirt with young men from halfway across a concert hall, using only your eyes."

"Well, one of us had to be good at it," Miss Goneril retorted. "You've resigned yourself to endless pining for someone who isn't dead  _ or _ married, and Oti thinks chemistry is something that happens in an alchemy lab! Thank goodness I was born, or you wouldn't have anyone to give you that little push!"

"I think I've gotten as much steam as I need," Bernadetta said softly.

"Ah-- you will have to excuse us; Mrs. Aegir is very sensitive to heat," Ferdinand lied. He stood and offered his arm. "We will look forward to seeing you at the Ordelias' ball!"

He helped her flee. A different attendant than they'd seen before showed them back to the little room where their clothes were. "That was certainly something," Ferdie remarked, hoping Bernadetta wouldn't feel bad for pulling him out of such a strange conversation. "Wait." Goneril? Like the Duke of Goneril and his siblings? "Did she say Holst Goneril? The Poet General? The Duke of Goneril? Goddess, I must have seemed so…" Aloof? Uninterested? Stupid? "Goddess." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it to calm himself.

"We'll see them again tomorrow night," Bernadetta pointed out. "You can say hello again. And you're ahead of me; I barely spoke."

"I doubt anyone noticed," Ferdinand reassured her. "After all, Miss Goneril barely left time for anyone to get a word in, even her brothers." Including decorated general Holst Goneril. The reason the Almyran border had stayed put, Holst Goneril. The man Ferdinand had met with barely more than a how-do-you-do, Duke Holst Goneril. Fuck.

"Do you think I really will have to dance?" Bernadetta asked, and the phrasing caught Ferdinand's notice.

"You have every right to, as a bride, but nobody will force you," he pointed out. "Do you not like dancing?" That was a shame. He loved dancing.

"Well, I don't know many," she told him. "I don't really… go out…"

Right. Of course. A young woman who had last been out dancing on her sixteenth birthday would only have a vague recollection of the dances she would need to know. "Then, how about we refresh your memory tomorrow, and maybe tonight after dinner?"

"Oh, but your knee…" Had Bernadetta been fiddling with the laces of her shift for too long? Should Ferdinand ask to help?

"It should be better tomorrow, after two nights' rest and a couple hot baths. And, if it does not, Lorenz  _ lives _ for dancing; he will be excited to help."

That argument worked; she agreed and they dressed.

Ferdinand hadn't been lying; his knee did feel much better, the way it normally did in summer. He and Bernadetta dressed in friendly silence, and Ferdinand tested how far his knee would bend for him while he still had privacy and a table to lean against.

The cure to the underlying problem would be to build his strength back up, go on more rides and walks to strengthen his leg after a month of paralyzing anxiety. Bernadetta would probably even like to accompany him.

Ferdinand left a sizable tip and they went outside as their carriage pulled up. It was later than Ferdinand had expected, the sun starting to sink at a steep angle the way it did in Summer. He asked Bernadetta if she would like to go home by way of a nice lake nearby.

"I would just like to go home," she told him, looking down. Then she looked up and said, "Oh-- unless you would like to!"

"I will enjoy being home," Ferdie promised her.

They didn't talk much in the carriage. Ferdinand tried to discuss the Gonerils, and the Ordelias' dance, and even speculate on what they would have for dinner, but Bernadetta just seemed shy and reserved, so Ferdinand looked out at the scenery instead.

There was no time to even ask about Bernadetta's mood when they got home; she went inside as Ferdinand was still thanking their driver and was in bed by the time Ferdinand reached their room. Ferdinand removed his frock-coat, asking, "Are you alright, my dove?" He didn't know if he should even ask when she was so obviously tired.

"Just fine, but I'd like some time alone," Bernadetta said. "...If that's possible."

That was very vague. Ferdinand didn't want to bother her, but he felt it would be rude not to ask: "Should I check with you before dinner, to see if you feel well enough to come down?" He wished he could touch her, hold her, do anything to comfort her, but that would only make it worse.

She said, "I'll be at dinner," but she said it in a very small voice.

He wanted to remind her that she didn't have to, that he would happily tell their hosts she was ill and needed some time to recover. But he also didn't want to bother her, so he said, "I will ask again when it is time to dress" and went to find Lorenz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. The Ball, and After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Bernadetta attend, and subsequently recover from, the ball. They finally have a conversation about how they want to approach forming a relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to Masdevallia for beta-ing this chapter on short notice! She's the reason I added the botanical garden scenes at the end!
> 
> If you've never had everlasting syllabub or weissweincreme, they're worth looking up! You mix citrus and fortified wine into sweetened whipped cream (and custard, for weissweincreme) and it's absolutely sublime. Perfect for high tea on a summer afternoon!

Ferdinand could tell, maybe from some internal sense or maybe from the particular angle of the light that managed to come through the thick curtains, that he'd slept in. It was probably good for him; even shifting slightly told him his shoulders were sore from the massage yesterday. Bernadetta had perked up with some rest and gone down to dinner, even if she left quickly afterward. He still felt cautious around her, waiting for her to demand the apology she was so obviously owed, but in the meantime, there was peace in their household, to quote Bernadetta.

He rolled out of bed to go shave his face and brush his teeth. His knee was much better, restored by rest and hot baths and the warm summer weather, as he had expected. Yes, he thought to himself as he looked in the mirror. Things were good. He was Ferdinand von Aegir and he was doing his best by his bride, and it was working. Today, they would have a much less taxing schedule, just fooling around with Lorenz and trying to remember the steps to all the most popular dances. Maybe they would play some parlor games, or go out on the lawn for whatever leisurely sport sounded fun, and Bernadetta could work on her arts if she chose to. She deserved a nice, relaxing day after being subjected to Lorenz' idea of a good time.

Ferdinand returned to the bedroom in good spirits. Bernadetta's eyes were open, but she was staring into the middle distance, probably still waking up. Ferdinand went to get dressed for breakfast, choosing his nicest shirt since he would be attending a dance that evening.

He heard a sort of whimper behind him and turned to see Bernadetta turn her face down toward the pillow, but even in the low light, Ferdie could see her eyes were red.

"Bernadetta?" he asked quietly as he went to sit by her. He reached out and stroked her hair.

"Sorry," she whispered. The first word out of her mouth that morning was an apology. "Sorry. Ignore me." She sniffled.

"I will not," Ferdinand told her. "I will comfort you, if you will let me." He wanted to lean down, kiss her jaw, her shoulder, anything. He didn't know where the line was that she didn't want crossed.

"I'm just tired," she told him, and sniffled again. "I can be better in time for the party."

"Ah," Ferdinand said, finally understanding a tiny sliver of what was happening. "You slept badly?"

"It was a tiring few days," Bernadetta reminded him, her voice vanishingly small. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"Bother me any time," Ferdinand offered. "I am yours to bother as needed. I only want you to feel better." How did it feel to wake up already exhausted? She seemed to do it often. "I will ask to have breakfast sent up, my darling."

"If I can't dance tonight, I'm sorry," Bernadetta told him. "I'll do my best to remember all the parts."

"Bernadetta, you are unwell," Ferdinand pointed out. "If you are unable to go to the party at all, I understand."

"I'll try not to keep you from it," she promised. She took in shuddering breaths, the kind that meant she was really crying. "I don't mean to-- to ruin your trip to Gloucester."

"Our trip," Ferdinand reminded her. "It is  _ our _ honeymoon. If one of us is not having a good time, it is time to try something else."

"I haven't had much time to rest in the past few days," Bernadetta said. "Alone. At home, my family just… left me alone."

"I am at your command, my dove," Ferdinand told her. "Though I would like to ensure you have some breakfast…"

"Ask if there are any more of Ms. Farine's sun-and-moon buns?" Ferdie's wife asked. So, her illness probably  _ was _ in her mind instead of her body. "They were so yummy yesterday."

"I will ask," Ferdinand promised. "You would prefer something sweet?"

Bernadetta nodded. "If it's available," she confirmed. "I'm just… very tired, and I'd like something nice."

After a short moment of considering whether it was the right thing, Ferdinand said, "I'm sorry." Bernadetta's eyes flicked to him. "For… consummation. The way it was carried out. I am sure you feel like there is nothing to apologize for, since you asked me to do it, but I saw your face, Bernadetta. I held you in my arms while it happened and was powerless to protect you. I cannot change what I have already done, so instead I am giving you my apologies."

After a couple moments, she said, "It really was fine. It didn't hurt, at least, which I'd been told it would. Nothing that's happened these last few days has been bad. I just get overwhelmed easily."

And, instead of being waited on, she liked to relax alone. "I will ensure you have a good breakfast available, and then when should I check in on you?" Ferdinand asked. "Late morning? Around noon?"

"You don't need to bother about me," Bernadetta deflected. "I'm just sulking. You can just have a nice day with Lorenz." She shrank down into the covers so they nearly came up to her nose.

"You are not sulking," Ferdinand countered. "You have been driven to exhaustion, and it was partly because I was so careless." He was trying to be attentive to her needs. He was trying to notice when she didn't want to do things. Had she objected to the spa day, and Ferdinand hadn't noticed? Had he just trampled over her at some point? He wished she would just speak her feelings. "It is only right for me to help you recover." He put a hand on her arm through the covers. "I will have breakfast sent up, and if you have no objections, I will be back in an hour or so to check on you." He leaned down toward her and said, "This is when you are encouraged to say no, if you want to."

Bernadetta smiled a little. Ferdinand could tell past the covers and past her tears. "I don't object to seeing you a few times today," she told him. "You can check on me as long as you aren't disappointed if I just need more time."

That was a much better outcome than when they were in Enbarr, where she could barely stand to be disturbed two or three times a day, but refused to acknowledge her discomfort. "Then I will go get you that bun," Ferdinand promised her. "And you liked that rose and rose hip blend they have here?"

"Oh, um. Yes, I like it very much," she agreed. She seemed surprised, but he could hardly send breakfast without tea. Ferdinand leaned down to kiss the side of her head and went to the wardrobe to finish dressing.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta claimed to be recovered before dinner, but she was quiet and withdrawn around Lorenz' family. Ferdinand kept a sharp eye on her to ensure he didn't just barrel over her with his enthusiasm. She smiled very cheerfully when they decided to set out for the Ordelias' party, and conversed easily on the way there. She seemed very well recovered.

Lorenz introduced them to everybody: their hosts, the Goneril siblings (Ferdinand was properly appreciative of Lord Goneril this time, and his work at the Locket), and a smattering of people from around Liecester. Bernadetta looked like she was starting to flag, so Ferdinand suggested joining in the dancing. His wife's relieved smile told him it was a good decision, so he warned Lorenz not to leave the main hall and he promptly found himself a partner so he could dance, too.

Bernadetta was a perfectly good dancer. She missed one or two steps, but who didn't, sometimes? And it didn't seem to bother her. They were dancing a reel and Ferdinand asked if Bernadetta was enjoying herself so far, and she said she was, and then, several beats from the end, she ran out of the room with no warning.

Ferdinand disengaged from the dancing, ready to go after her, but then he remembered his obligation to Lorenz' parents. If Lorenz found himself alone with a young woman or, Goddess forbid,  _ kissed _ someone, how could Ferdinand show his face in front of his hosts? He scanned the room frantically for someone he recognized.

"Duke Goneril," he greeted as he approached the man he'd met at the sauna yesterday.

"Er-- Mr. Aegir, right?"

"Yes, we met just yesterday," Ferdinand confirmed. His words came out in a rush. "I have a huge favor to ask you."

"What could you want from me?"

Yes, he  _ knew _ it was inappropriate, he knew he was overstepping, but every second in the dance hall was a second when Bernadetta was alone and upset. "I came here tonight with my friend, Lorenz Gloucester, and my wife and I are his chaperones. But my wife has suddenly had to step out for some air, and I cannot betray his parents' trust in me to keep him in sight--"

"I can keep an eye on your friend," Lord Gloucester promised. "Just for a few minutes, right? Give my best to your wife; she looked very upset when she left."

"Thank you so much," Ferdinand said. "I will have to find some way to rep--"

"I'd do it for anyone," Lord Gloucester interrupted him. "Go."

Ferdie went.

It was difficult to find her. Ferdinand had expected her to find the first dark, private corner she could hide in, but when he called her name on the patio, there was no response. Other party guests confirmed they'd seen her go into the garden around back, but she didn't respond when he called her name there, either. Ferdinand felt sick with worry. Could she have run away? Where would she go? She couldn't have tried to walk back to Gloucester Manor, could she? Maybe she went around to the stables--

Ferdinand heard a sniffle.

"Bernadetta?" He asked again, and went toward the noise. "Who's there? Are you alright?" This wasn't a lovers' corner, lit just enough for shadows to mask an embrace; this side of the house was dark save for the light from the windows inside and the half-moon overhead.

There was a small amount of rustling and a whispered "Drat!" and Ferdinand tripped over a bush.

"Bernadetta! I'm so glad I found you!" Ferdie told his wife as he picked himself up. He still felt ill. Why hadn't Bernadetta identified herself? Why hadn't she at least waved? As he successfully jumped over the bush he'd stumbled over before, he saw she still cowered against a hedge, hidden from sight from anyone on the other side. "My dear, I was so worried," he told her as he approached her. "I didn't know where you went." He knelt like he was approaching a frightened dog or a child. She looked so small, curled up on the ground.

"D-d-don't hurt me," Bernadetta said. In the dim light, Ferdie could barely make out the way her eyes were screwed shut, her shoulders hunched and her head tucked down like she expected a blow.

"I will not hurt you," Ferdinand told her. "I was worried about you. I am glad to find you safe."

"Of course you're mad!" she yelled at him. "Who wouldn't be mad? Yell at me all you need to, just please don't hit me!"

"I am not mad," Ferdinand told her. He was starting to get concerned that his actions were telling her something different from his words. Did she feel like he was cornering her? Still crouched down, he shuffled back a bit. "I am extremely worried. I had no way to know you were upset."

Bernadetta was muttering to herself. Ferdinand could only make out some of it over the din from inside, but he caught phrases like "made a fool of him" and "really done it now" and "in front of everyone" that suggested he hadn't been very convincing.

Ferdinand sat down. Maybe she would believe he didn't plan to rush her if it was harder for him to move. He sat a good meter and a half from his wife and said, "I am more than happy to tell you how I feel, or to comfort you any way you will let me. I really am glad you are safe." Bernadetta's uneven breathing, her intermittent sniffling, the way she muttered to herself were all extremely worrying, but at least she was whole and sound in front of him.

"You hate me!" she accused. Ferdinand cringed at her raised voice. "I embarrassed you in front of everyone, and--"

"You worried me," Ferdinand corrected her. "I was terrified. Before I heard you, I was scared you had run off on your own."

"Why would you not hate me? I just keep doing things like this, making you look bad, like you can't even keep your own wife under control, like this is something between us instead of my own problems, and there are only so many times a person can get embarrassed like that without getting mad--"

"Bernadetta!" He tried not to sound angry, and was certain he failed. "I am telling you, as plainly as I can, how I feel. I have no idea why I was blessed with a wife who would go to such lengths for me. Why you would torture yourself to attend a dance because you think it will make me happy. I… have never amounted to much, and have barely ever had the courage to speak my mind about anything important, and yet you are beyond dedicated to me. I do not deserve it, and I especially do not understand it. But, no, I am not angry at all that you dragged yourself out here and smiled and met people and danced for my sake, up to the very moment you could not stand to be in the room anymore." He sighed. "Should I ask to have our carriage prepared?"

"Y-you and Lorenz should enjoy yourselves," Bernadetta said. Her breathing was still shaky from crying. Ferdinand's heart hurt. "It's a warm night. I'll be fine."

Ferdinand hoped he surprised Bernadetta by crying, because he certainly surprised himself. He hadn't cried in years, and this was the second time in a week. "Please let me help you," he begged. "I cannot-- I do not know how to do this. Any of this. Being married. I know I have been getting things wrong. I do not know what to do." He buried his face in his hands. He was so ashamed. Bernadetta needed him to step up, but here he was, falling apart in front of her, completely useless. If he were better, if he had supported her better, surely none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have fled a party to sit on the cold dirt in one of her best dresses. She wouldn't have pushed him away when he came to help. His failure stung in his throat and eyes, ached across his chest and arms, throbbed in his head.

"I changed my mind. Get the carriage," Bernadetta said. She sounded decisive. She spoke with more confidence than Ferdinand had heard from her all day. "Or I will. Do you need me to fetch Lorenz?"

"I-- could not ask you to go back inside," Ferdinand told her. He heard her shifting, getting up, so he did the same.

"Then I will go to the stables," she said. She smoothly reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief, reached up and dabbed at Ferdinand's eyes with it and he thought it may have been the most tender thing she had done since they married. "Here, my hands are cold; they will help you look less like you've been crying," she told him, and pressed cool fingertips against his hot eyelids. She was like a different person.

Ferdinand took her hands and brought them to his mouth to kiss her fingertips. "I can get the carriage and Lorenz," he offered. "You can stay secluded out here if you like."

Bernadetta shook her head. "It will be faster," she told him, and started herding him down the path. "Besides, he has been inside with no chaperone; who knows if he is anywhere near where you left him?"

"I asked Duke Goneril to keep an eye out," Ferdinand told her. "That was why I took so long to follow you. All should be well. But I do need to thank him."

"Then thank him," Bernadetta commanded. "You will have plenty of time; carriages always take a while. I will be in the stable, hoping our hosts don't have time to come fuss over me." She still quivered slightly. Ferdinand could see the way her dress shimmered in the low light.

"I will collect your shawl," he promised her. "I love you very dearly, Bernadetta. Please take good care of yourself until I reach the stables." It was all he could think to say. Obviously, he had taken horrible care of her, but he hoped she wouldn't feel worse as they prepared to leave.

She said she would, and Ferdinand tried to smile pleasantly as he walked back through the few people on the patio, back into the dance hall where Lorenz was chatting with Hilda Goneril and a short, fair-haired woman in a pastel lavender dress who Ferdinand remembered was the daughter of their hosts.

"Oh, yes, aren't they nice? I made them myself," Miss Goneril said as he approached, showing off her earrings. "Took forever to-- oh, welcome back!" She smiled right at him, and the other two turned. "Holst said you and Mrs. Aegir had to step out for a minute. Is everything alright?"

He couldn't think of a convenient lie that would also get Lorenz out of the conversation, so he said, "Unfortunately, Mrs. Aegir feels unwell. I think it would be best for us to go home." He bowed to Miss Ordelia and said, "We both offer our deepest congratulations on your coming out." As he straightened, he smiled at her and added, "You will have to stay up late into the night on behalf of all of us who have to go home early."

Miss Ordelia said, "Thank you," and curtseyed. "I'm glad you were able to come."

"The pleasure is all ours," Lorenz cut in. He said a quick goodbye to Miss Goneril, and just then, Duke Goneril approached.

"Are you taking over again?" the young duke asked pleasantly.

"Yes, Mrs. Aegir needs to go home, so we are taking Lorenz back with us," Ferdinand explained. "Thank you for all your help."

"It was nothing at all," Duke Goneril told him. "Take care, all of you. I will hope to see you around town."

That was all the social parts handled, then. He had even said goodbye to one of the Ordelia family, so he could hardly be said not to have made his goodbyes. He and Lorenz continued on toward the front, where Ferdinand asked for Bernadetta's shawl by attempting to describe the color and the lace, which took a while, but worked. Then they could leave.

The night air was refreshing. Even a few minutes inside, with his face feeling so hot and the constant worry that someone would notice, had been excruciating, but the cold and dark soothed him. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, completely unsure of what to do about all the tension behind them. As he blinked away the sparks in his vision, Lorenz said, "May I ask what on Earth is happening?"

"I am not certain I am cut out for marriage," Ferdinand said, which he knew was a terrible explanation. Feelings of lightness and heaviness warred in his stomach, and he felt ill again. Or maybe had never stopped. "I am so incredibly bad at it. I have done nothing this whole time but upset Bernadetta. I don't know what to do."

Lorenz gaped at him. He pulled a slender arm around Ferdinand's shoulder and said, "Well. At the very least, we can get you both home."

The next couple minutes were incredibly nerve-wracking. Ferdinand didn't know if he was supposed to go to the stables. He'd sent Bernadetta to talk to people alone, something he knew she hated, and all she got in return was her shawl. What good was Ferdinand? He was singularly unhelpful.

Lorenz tried to soothe him, but the depth and breadth of Ferdinand's failure was nearly unfathomable. When the carriage finally came, he herded Ferdinand inside and pushed him to sit next to his wife.

"I got your shawl," Ferdinand said quietly, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, hoping for any scrap of approval that would tell him Bernadetta didn't think as badly of him as he deserved.

"Oh. Thank you; I'd forgotten," she said, and pulled it around her shoulders. She was sedate now. Ferdinand was too embarrassed to say anything very meaningful. Bernadetta leaned against him, a bit, but did that mean anything? Ferdinand could feel himself sweating. His heart pumped furiously in his chest. This level of failure was surely unprecedented; people got married all the time. They married near-strangers all the time. It must take an impressive level of all-around incompetence to screw it up.

"Ferdie, are you alright?" Lorenz asked. "You look ill."

He didn't know what to say. He had no excuse; he had tried his best and still led his wife into a situation so trying, she had to flee from it and hide behind a decorative hedge. "I, um. I don't--"

"It's my fault," Bernadetta said, and Ferdinand wanted to contradict her, but words were so slow for him right now. "He wore himself out with worry, looking for me. We will both go straight to bed when we get home." She shifted a bit against him, and he felt he could cry again. Why was she covering for him when he had failed her? She had been so terrified of him, she'd tried to hide herself from him. Was she… was she afraid he would hurt her if she didn't do this?

"It was certainly not," Ferdinand said, feeling braver now that he had something to defend her from, even if it was her own words. "I know you would not have acted out so publicly if you were able not to. I must apologize; I tried to keep an eye on you, to ensure you really did have the energy for the party, and I missed your signals. I knew you would try to do what others wanted, and I should have given you a more graceful way to decline."

"Oh, no, it was my fault enti--"

"Perhaps it was no one's fault," Lorenz interrupted. "Perhaps we do not need to assign blame to anyone, and we can all just go home and say we danced too hard and got tired. There, done."

Ferdinand was going to protest, but Bernadetta took his hand in hers and his thoughts stopped almost entirely. He didn't know what he could have done to deserve her kindness. There was so much he needed to say to her, but not with Lorenz there.

"Are you feeling a bit better, Mrs. Aegir?" Lorenz asked politely. "I am very sorry if we pushed you when you still felt ill."

"A little better," she confirmed. Her voice was quiet. She still held Ferdinand's hand. "I didn't realize I was still so tired. I'm sorry to pull you away from such a fun evening; it really was shameless of me. Goddess, Bernie, you could at least show some graciousness to your hosts instead of--"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself on my account," Lorenz interrupted. "I was just on holiday, remember? I went to plenty of parties in Enbarr, and of course, the wedding of the year! You  _ must _ do whatever makes you happiest on your own honeymoon!"

"Well… Ferdinand should be able to, too," Bernadetta said, as if that somehow justified her exhausting herself so horribly.

"Ferdinand would like to go home, too," Ferdie said. He felt completely miserable.

Lorenz leaned forward, peering at him in the low light, and asked, "Ferdie, are you sure you're alright? You look very pale."

"Just very tired," he said, so he wouldn't worry the others too much. It should have been too early in the evening for that excuse, but it worked anyway.

The rest of the ride was mostly quiet. Bernadetta kept holding his hand and didn't stop leaning against him. Ferdinand didn't want to overstep and intimidate her, which made him worry he wasn't reassuring her enough, but before he could act on it, the ride ended.

Lorenz went in to see if his parents were still up in the parlor, and Ferdinand and Bernadetta went straight to their room.

"At last," Ferdie said when they were alone. "I apologize, again, for taking you out when you did not want to go." He started to remove his jewelry.

"It's fine," Bernadetta said quietly.

It sounded like she didn't want to talk, so Ferdinand didn't push her. He felt shaky and fragile, and just wanted to get to bed and maybe read for a bit. Maybe things would feel less hopeless in the morning.

At last, he could lie down. He pulled the covers over himself, abandoning all thoughts of reading when he realized he didn't want to bother to light a candle, and tried to think about opera or dressage to distract himself. Bernadetta nestled into her side of the bed a couple moments later.

"Would you… like to cuddle?" Bernadetta asked. Ferdie turned to look at her; how could she want to have anything to do with him after tonight?

"I would," he admitted, feeling shy and nervous. Just like he used to all the time. Just like he was trying to stop feeling. "Do you? I would not want you to push yourself…"

"I do," she insisted, and scooted a little closer to him under the covers. Ferdinand moved his pillow when he moved so they could lie next to each other easily.

"Are you really so tired?" Bernadetta asked. Her voice was soft and sweet. "You weren't just saying that for my sake?"

"I am… beyond my limits," Ferdinand said. He couldn't remember ever running out of energy, except after hard exercise. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up refreshed, ready to help Bernadetta if she was ill again. "If you are not tired yet, I understand."

"No, I am," she insisted. "But I thought… maybe, we might enjoy ourselves first."

Her hand moved under the covers. He felt it on his hip, and then it moved down to--

"Oh! You want to…?" He couldn't change that he'd jolted back when her hand touched…  _ there. _ She hadn't wanted to before. What if he upset her again?

"It's supposed to be very relaxing," she told him, and leaned toward him. "You might find it refreshing."

What was he supposed to say? He had already upset her once that night by being inattentive to her needs. Did she want to, or did she think he wanted to? Wasn't he  _ supposed _ to want to? It was one of the great sacraments of marriage, after all, and his understanding was that men usually enjoyed it more. Was something in him broken?

"I would enjoy kissing you, like we did in the rose garden when we got here," he offered. "I do not think I am up for much more than that." He swallowed hard. He felt inadequate. Maybe he'd never really stopped feeling inadequate, but had been able to pretend for the last several months by ignoring his own feelings; he couldn't be sure.

"Whatever you like," Bernadetta said. She sounded too cheerful after leaving a party in tears. She was trying to please him at her own expense, like she always did, like he wished she wouldn't. She slipped her hand back onto his hip. "We have as much time as we want."

"I think, maybe, I would just like to be held," Ferdinand admitted quietly. "Or hold you. Whichever you prefer. As you say, there will be time to kiss in the morning, and we will have more energy." He leaned forward and kissed the crook of her neck. He hoped it seemed affectionate and not aggressive. He smiled at her for good measure, and brushed her hair behind her ear. "My dearest and most beautiful," he added, so she knew it was nothing to do with not desiring her.

"I, um. I think I could enjoy being held," Bernadetta admitted. She looked at Ferdinand a moment, probably to double-check that he approved of that course of action, but he didn't have the energy to be very bothered by that when she turned around with no more prompting and lay still as Ferdinand slipped an arm loosely around her waist. They said good night softly to each other and Bernadetta fell asleep quickly while Ferdinand lay awake for at least twenty minutes wondering what the best course of action would have been, what was expected and needed from him, what was  _ wrong _ with him that he had turned down lovemaking when his wife offered it so readily.

He'd been up late, and was stressed, besides. He slept through the night and had nightmares too mild to wake him up.

.-._.-._.-._

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester woke, as he did most mornings, to sunlight streaming into his room. He always missed that when he traveled. He sat up in bed, stretched, and yawned. It was good to be home. It was good to be in his own room, with its high ceiling and elegant, Liecester-style furniture, and his own sheets. He lay back down for a bit to think about his day. If everything went as planned, Bernadetta would go view the rose garden with Mother, which meant he would actually have to get up fairly soon because he and Ferdinand were hoping to go hunting with Father. But she might also be sick again, and whatever Ferdinand said, he would need an easy day, as well. Lorenz tried not to carry any resentment for having to go home early the previous evening, but the whole situation would have been avoided so easily if she had simply told them she was too tired to go out.

Last night… Perhaps, instead of hunting, he and Ferdinand could go alone on a walk or ride, or play some lawn sports.

Despite the very short period of time they'd been separated, Lorenz had learned two extremely important things when Ferdinand had been off chasing his wife:

  1. Holst Goneril was a surprisingly gentle kisser.
  2. Lorenz hadn't objected to learning that information. Not in the slightest.



He should have objected. Probably a lot. It wasn't proper, two young men like that. Even if it were, he  _ knew _ kissing was off-limits for someone of his status. The entire reason Ferdinand and Bernadetta were there was to keep him from kissing anybody. Warm lips, chapped and moisturized in the summer heat, his partner shorter but broader than him, the feeling of firm chest muscles under his hand as he felt them through layers of fine fabric and embroidery. Holst Goneril was solidity, itself, and no textiles could break that illusion.

He tried to put together how it had happened, but couldn't think of any real reason except that he had wanted to. Holst had pulled him aside to tell him Ferdinand had left Lorenz in his care until Bernadetta could be found and reasoned with, and Lorenz had, just for a moment, felt absolutely sick of his friends and their dramatics. Holst had pulled him out of the main room, telling him it was okay if he was worried about his friends, and said he'd met the couple yesterday in the sauna at the Rose and Rush, and Gloucester really was such a spectacular place to visit for the Season. Lorenz couldn't stop thinking about how Holst's plump, pink lips matched his hair, including his beard.

Holst must have noticed him looking and reciprocated his feelings because his tone changed as he continued complimenting Gloucester and said some extremely kind things about their roses in a voice that said he wasn't really talking about roses. Lorenz had wanted to do lewd and inappropriate things, right there in a side room off a dance hall, but instead he and Holst pressed themselves against the wall, hidden from sight behind the door, and… and they kissed. Lorenz would even have described it as chaste, if their positions did not deem kissing before marriage to be a transgression of the highest order.

Lorenz touched his lips with his fingertips. They felt nothing like Holst's lips.

He needed to stop fixating on that. There were other activities in the world. He hauled himself out of bed, all six lanky feet of him, and went to the bathroom for his morning routine.

He wondered how Bernadetta would top herself. She'd gone from enjoying a friendly hike, to getting exhausted by a spa day, to running away from a party. If she were not so sweet and sincere, Lorenz would have suspected she just liked having everyone fret over her.

He wondered how Ferdie was doing in all this. His new wife's moods were exhausting to Lorenz, and Ferdinand was actually married to her. He had confessed to Lorenz yesterday, when they were playing anagrams out on the back patio, that they had consummated their marriage their first night in Gloucester, and that it had been horrible, but Bernadetta put on a brave face and insisted it was fine. Lorenz hadn't been sure Bernadetta  _ had _ a brave face, but he'd sympathized with his friend. Ferdinand had also told him that the spa experience had a few too many people for Bernadetta's liking, which was a shame, and that she'd spent three whole days in Enbarr sick from stress, so her current state was nothing to worry about. Ferdinand was sure her stress illness was somehow his fault, for being inattentive or unintentionally cruel, but Lorenz knew the type. He knew his own mother could whip herself into an absolute frenzy without any assistance at all, and she was much more confident than Bernadetta. Lorenz just wished that Bernadetta's moods didn't wear so hard on Ferdinand.

He didn't want to blame Bernadetta for hurting his friend, for overwhelming Ferdinand with his worry for her. He knew she was hardly in control of herself, if she couldn't even dance a reel without sprinting out of the room. But Ferdinand had done as much as any husband could, as far as Lorenz could tell, so whatever she'd said to make him feel so useless and hopeless had to have been cruel, whether she meant it to be or not.

His face clean-shaven and properly moisturized, his teeth tasting minty and clean, he returned to his bedroom to dress. The heady scent of roses and just a touch of geranium, to brighten it all up, wafted charmingly around him. Thinking of the sport they were hoping for today, he selected a sturdy vest with purple and dark purple stripes, and his oldest breeches that had a couple stubborn mud and grass stains around the knees.

He supposed everything hinged on the state Bernadetta was in. If she was ill, he could-- well, he  _ should-- _ well, it would probably be advisable to tell Ferdinand what had happened with Holst in the staging kitchen last night. But, then again, there were two secrets there that could upset Ferdinand when he was already occupied with his wife's difficulties, so maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it was a secret that was meant to stay locked in his heart forever, a secret he would die with after marrying a woman and having many Crested heirs and ruling all of Liecester.

That was achievable. He was polite, if nothing else. He wouldn't be expected to  _ love _ his wife, just to be reasonably kind to her. Surely, someday he would feel as intensely about a woman as he had felt about Holst Goneril last night. Surely, he just hadn't found the right one yet.

Anyway. He was dressed, his shoes were on. He returned to the bathroom briefly to comb his hair into place and dab a bit of powder over his acne. Then he straightened his posture and walked down to breakfast. Mother and Father weren't psychic; there was no way for them to know what he'd done as long as he acted like his normal self.

He was dawdling at the breakfast table, eating porridge very slowly as he read a firsthand account of the failed Liecester-Srengi Alliance negotiations sixty years ago, when he heard footsteps and turned around.

"Ferdinand, you look ghastly!" he said before he could stop himself. He was pale, with bruisy gray circles under his eyes, and he  _ slouched. _

"I will be alright," Ferdinand insisted as he sat down, though his voice was slightly hoarse. "Just a summer cold. Nothing to worry about." He sniffled.

"Then I take it your wife is too ill to come down again?" Lorenz asked as he poured tea for his friend.

Ferdinand nodded. "She thinks she may feel better by afternoon. She feels horrible for letting down Lady Gloucester; they were going to tour the rose garden today."

Lorenz was certain she'd said it in more and harsher words than that, and had subsequently needed to be calmed down. He couldn't help feeling a little bit peeved at the woman who'd worn his friend down so much, even though he knew it wasn't her fault.

"I am certain she will be completely understanding," Lorenz said. He stood and went to the breakfast table. "Now, what would you like?"

"Anything is fine," Ferdinand said. "Toast, I guess. I am not very hungry."

"You have been 'not very hungry' for over a month," Lorenz reminded him, putting toast and eggs and a couple slices of bacon and some tomatoes on his plate. "You need to eat, Ferdinand." He took the liberty of spreading butter and elderberry jam on the toast. "Of course you feel worn down; you are still getting your strength back." He had been so concerned with Bernadetta, earlier that week, that he'd been completely careless about Ferdinand's knee, and there was nothing to do about that now, but he could at least help to distract his friend and ensure he got a good meal. "Drink your tea; rose hips are very good for a cold."

"You are turning into your mother," Ferdinand complained, but Lorenz heard him lift his teacup.

"There is no one I would rather be," Lorenz said, and put the breakfast plate down in front of his friend. "Now, I know you are a bit under the weather, and you will not want to go far while Bernadetta is still in a state, but maybe we could take a turn through the rose garden, or around the pond, sometime today?" He sat back at his own seat and had a spoonful of porridge to signal that he was done talking.

"Maybe in the afternoon," Ferdinand agreed. "I think I might lie down for a bit after breakfast…"

Lorenz frowned. That didn't sound like 'just a cold' to him, but he wasn't about to stop his best friend from resting while he was sick.

"Ferdinand," Lorenz said, hoping he could at least help with whatever had brought on his friend's feelings of hopelessness the previous night. When Ferdinand looked up, he smiled just a bit and said, "You sounded very upset last night. I wonder if things did not just feel more difficult because you were coming down with something."

Ferdinand looked down. It took Lorenz a moment to realize his friend was schooling his face to keep himself from crying. "I hope that is true," he said. "I have felt that way all week, though." He blinked a few times. He fiddled with the napkin in his lap instead of eating.

"There must be some way to make this easier," Lorenz insisted. "For both of you. I know Bernadetta is not enjoying this, either."

"She is doing her best," Ferdinand said. "You know it wears on her."

"I know that you have been apologizing and smoothing things over for her since you were married," Lorenz retorted. "I know that she always seems distant, and I do not know why. You cannot do this forever, Ferdinand. You need to talk with her and figure it out."

"When?" Ferdinand asked. "When do you think she will be well enough? I tried the morning after we were married, and she got so distracted by her own thoughts that she started crying. Then, for a week, she was torn apart about… consummation. And now, here, there has not been one single day where she felt alright in the morning and the evening. She goes to bed tired and wakes up tired. I am not going to take her to task just because that happens to be inconvenient for me. I am as I was, Lorenz. I am the scion of Aegir Duchy, I live in my father's house in Enbarr, I can do everything I used to. Bernadetta is transplanted. She lives in a new house, in a new city, with only strangers around. She has taken a new name. It seems reasonable to have a period of adjustment."

Lorenz wanted to take Ferdinand by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, since talking clearly wasn't working. "I am not trying to blame anything on Bernadetta," he said with all the calmness he could muster. "I just think it is very clear that you could use some relief."

"It is better than it was," Ferdinand said, but he didn't sound like he was arguing. "It is so much better." He kept his voice low as he said, "When we were married, it was like she was afraid of me. She was always treading carefully around me, trying to do what she thought I wanted. She was very clearly afraid of me. Now, she leans on me. She trusts me. She wants me close to her when she gets upset. I would not want to pull back and sacrifice the progress we have already made. Is it not my responsibility to make her feel welcome in my house?" He looked up at Lorenz with pleading eyes.

Lorenz was no stranger to responsibility, and of course he understood seeing things through to their completion, but he was apparently the only one between them who understood that Ferdinand was only human. "You have spared no effort in doing that," he reminded his friend. "You have been respectful, warm, welcoming. Where is her effort? What has she done to integrate harmoniously into your house?"

"She has been ill," Ferdinand said again. "She has had to rest."

"She has been moping, at worst," Lorenz corrected his friend. "I am sympathetic to her troubles, Ferdinand, but I am also sympathetic to yours."

"I am w-- I am alright," Ferdinand corrected himself. "I have a cold, Lorenz, that is all. Only… I feel bad because I broke a promise to Bernadetta."

That didn't sound like Ferdinand at all. "What sort of promise?" Lorenz asked. If it was a promise that she would have fun at the party, so help him, he would be having Words with her.

"I, um." Ferdinand blushed. "I can tell you later. In private."

"My parents are taking their morning walk, and their body servants are occupied in other parts of the house," Lorenz told him. They were functionally alone.

"After we returned last night, Bernadetta felt… amorous," Ferdinand told him, so quiet it was nearly a whisper. A blush rose on his cheeks. "Or maybe she did not, and thought I did; it is impossible to tell. I was exhausted, as I said, so I said to go to sleep and we would both have more energy in the morning. And now I have a cold and she is too ill to get out of bed."

"That is hardly a promise," Lorenz told him. "You cannot control how well someone sleeps, Ferdinand; you told her your hope for the morning and it did not come true. Did she see something wrong with that?"

"If she did, she said nothing," Ferdinand confirmed, speaking at his normal volume again. "She never complains; you have seen how she will push herself until she starts crying, rather than complain. She was much less worried about me disappointing her than she was by the idea that she would seem an ungrateful guest." He lowered his voice again, but it became desperately passionate as he added, "I do want to satisfy her, Lorenz. I want to feel all the natural feelings that a husband ought to have. You must believe me: I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You have already said as much," Lorenz reminded him. "Several times. Before you had her to fawn over, you sighed over her embroidery and her writing." He sat down. He was too frustrated to sit down, but the situation was too intimate to stand up, so he sat. "Why are you so insistent when nobody could question your devotion to her?"

Ferdinand fiddled harder with his napkin. He'd barely eaten. "Well… She has trouble believing me," he admitted. His face was nearly as red as the tomatoes languishing on his plate. He had a sip of tea, possibly for an excuse not to look at Lorenz.

_ "She what?" _ Lorenz should have kept his voice down. If he hadn't been taken by surprise, he would have. "Ferdinand, you have been completely devoted to her since before you even met her."

"I know."

"You are not hiding it. You are certainly not subtle! Where on Earth is this misunderstanding coming from?"

Ferdinand was quiet for a very long moment; the only sound for a few seconds was rustling cloth. "Do you know," he asked, "I am not sure I have ever been told that I am not very likable. And yet, my peers barely speak to me beyond what is polite and my closest friend lives two days' drive from Enbarr, in another country. I get the idea that somebody has told Bernadetta she was unattractive, but even if they have not, I imagine a woman would get that idea, over time, if nobody ever complimented her."

That pulled the rug out from any additional scolding Lorenz would otherwise have done. He had forgotten that, on top of having no experience in love, Ferdinand had barely any experience in intimate friendship. Of course he was over-eager. Of course he was overwhelmed. Lorenz sighed.

"You are perfectly easy to be friends with," he said, and put a hand on Ferdinand's shoulder. "You have unusual interests, that is all. You go to the opera and actually want to discuss the opera."

Ferdinand laughed a little at that, at least.

"Maybe she feels you are difficult to read," Lorenz suggested. "I can never tell what she is thinking, and that sort of thing often goes both ways." She had strange outbursts of worry when nobody was mad at her, and was soothed and upset by unpredictable things. If he couldn't understand her, it would make sense that she couldn't understand him, and she seemed just as strange about Ferdinand, despite her obvious affection for him.

"But I have been as transparent as I can," Ferdinand protested. "I have always been honest with her. I have even been careful to mark my intentions before I act."

"Does she know that is the reason why you've done that?" Lorenz challenged.

"Of course she-- I mean, she must-- Oh."

Lorenz nodded.

"Lorenz, have I been completely inscrutable to her?" Ferdinand asked. "Do you think I gave the impression I do not want to kiss her hand and her cheek constantly? Lorenz, I messed up." He slouched over on himself, looking small and miserable.

"That is easy to fix, though, is it not?" Lorenz asked, trying to cheer his friend up. "You just tell her your intentions. You say, I have been asking to kiss you to ensure I do not overwhelm you, and then you tell her your feelings. That should not be a difficult conversation." Not like the difficult conversation he was going to have with Ferdinand.  _ Ferdinand, I like men.  _ No. _ Ferdinand, Holst Goneril kissed me last night, and Goddess above, I wanted him to. _ What would Ferdinand say to that? He was supposed to spend another week and a half at Lorenz'  _ house. _

Ferdinand sighed. "I think I need to go upstairs," he said. "Thank you for the suggestions." He finished his tea. "Before anything else, I need to get some rest," he said.

"You have barely eaten," Lorenz pointed out as Ferdinand stood up. He scrambled to stand up so he could block his friend's path out the door if he needed to. "You are not well, Ferdinand. It is not just a cold, and I am worried about you."

"I asked for toast," Ferdinand reminded him, and took the triangles of toast off his plate. He pressed them jam sides together. "I will take the toast," he said, and bit into his sandwich.

"Ferdinand." Lorenz couldn't think of what to say, so instead, he just hugged his friend around the shoulders. Ferdinand only stayed tense a moment before he hugged Lorenz back with his free arm. "Take care of yourself," Lorenz insisted. "You are only one person." He pulled back and let Ferdinand go when he wordlessly continued toward the door. He hoped his friend would feel better by the afternoon, well enough for a short walk to get them out of the house and out of earshot even of servants.

.-._.-._.-._

She didn't want to be there. She felt like a hypocrite -- hadn't she been excited to come to Gloucester? -- but there was nowhere Bernadetta wanted to be more than her bedroom (which one? It was impossible to know whether her bedroom in Varley, Enbarr, or Gloucester was the most 'hers' right now) and, despite that, here she was in the Gloucester Public Botanical Garden and Experimental Rose Garden, sitting in a white wicker chair under an expansive wisteria arbor, taking tea with her husband and Lady Gloucester. It was Friday, a day later than the tight schedule Lady Gloucester had wanted, and Bernadetta wanted to shrink down to the size of a mouse and run away just for that. What kind of terrible guest was she, that she couldn't even appreciate her hosts' extremely generous hospitality?

"We are  _ so lucky _ there are lemon-currant scones today," Lady Gloucester said, as if she had no idea of Bernadetta's nerves. "I think, after tea, I should show you around the rose garden -- they really are frightfully interesting! -- and then it might be nice for the two of you to look around the rest of the botanical garden on your own for a while. How does that sound?"

Bernie looked down with 'Good, thank you' ready on her lips, but Ferdinand responded readily with "That sounds like a splendid idea! Are there any parts of the botanical garden you suggest we seek out?"

"The whole thing is delightful," she told him. "Take your time looking around. Ah, thank you!" Ferdinand pulled his hands off the table as the server set a tray down on their table and unloaded a teapot, three cups and saucers, a plate for each of them, and a plate with three large scones and little pots of clotted cream and jam. He nodded to Lady Gloucester and left. Bernie had a sip of the rosehip cordial they'd all gotten practically when they sat down as Lady Gloucester poured them all tea.

Bernie was happy to stay quiet and let Lady Gloucester and Ferdinand talk. After all, she was nearly like an aunt to him; of course they had a lot to catch up on! Bernie quietly broke little pieces off her crumbly scone and added dabs of cream and ate them, and tried not to get in the way of their conversation. Who was she, anyway? Just an interloper, an intruder into their comfortable, established friendship.

An intruder into every part of Ferdinand's life.

Ferdinand put a hand on the back of her shoulder and she said, "Sorry" and flinched. As he pulled his hand back, he asked if she was alright and she did her best to smile as she responded, "Just tired."

"Getting married is  _ so _ much more tiring for women, isn't it, Mrs. Aegir?" Lady Gloucester asked. "When I came here from Myrddin, everything was new and foreign. Horribly tiring!"

"H-how long does it last?" Bernie asked, hoping she wasn't interrupting by speaking up a little. After all, Lady Gloucester had directed the question to her.

"Oh, just a couple weeks," Lady Gloucester said, as if that wasn't urgent and necessary information. "Did your mother never mention that to you?"

Bernie couldn't help feeling like she'd given Lady Gloucester a very negative opinion of her parents. She couldn't say that bothered her. "No, nobody ever mentioned anything like that," she admitted. She'd had downswings before, periods when she had a bunch of bad days together. She knew, if she waited them out, they went away. But she hadn't thought that maybe she was upset because her marriage was so new, and it wasn't anything to do with Ferdinand or the overwhelming schedule they'd kept in Enbarr and Gloucester. “It’s normal?”

“Oh, yes, perfectly,” Lady Gloucester told her. “It would be positively silly to expect someone to adjust immediately to a new life, don’t you agree, Ferdinand?”

That was too overt. Bernie could see what Lady Gloucester was doing, trying to get him to agree verbally to ensure he understood what she was saying and wouldn’t hold Bernie’s discomfort against her, but she wasn’t being subtle at all and what if Ferdinand felt he’d been pushed into agreement and held that against Bernadetta and--

“Of course! That is why I have been doing my best to welcome her,” Ferdinand said, and then turned to Bernadetta. “I was just discussing it with Lorenz yesterday: how to make you feel welcome and safe when your whole life is different.”

What could she say to that? Was it intrusive? Was it helpful? Too many things  _ were  _ different, but that wasn’t supposed to be Ferdinand’s problem. Bernie could handle it. Even if she couldn’t, she  _ should  _ handle it. In the meantime, her mouth was open as she tried to figure out what to say that would move the conversation along gracefully, not placing any responsibility onto Ferdinand’s shoulders.

She gaped and stuttered until Lady Gloucester said, “Eat your scone, dear; all is well.” She turned her attention back to the plate in front of her and broke off another bite of scone. She had a sip of tea as the other two kept their conversation going.

Bernadetta had too much to think about. It swirled around in her head unhelpfully, confusing and upsetting her without clarifying anything. She wanted to lie down, away from people, wanted to shut the blinds and ignore all her responsibilities and obligations. Then the sandwiches and pastries arrived.

Bernie eased back into the conversation. It was all light, easy topics: fashion in Enbarr, how good the food was, a novel that everyone was talking about. There just wasn't any opportunity for Bernadetta to bring everyone else down. After the meal, there was a white wine cream, which Lady Gloucester called by an exceedingly silly name, and then they all went to look at the experimental rose garden. Bernie was sure she was participating in the conversation, but she couldn't remember much of what she said.

The rose garden tour was less uninteresting than Bernadetta had expected. Lady Gloucester knew something interesting about each rose, and knew all of their names. Ferdinand asked enthusiastic questions, and Bernie joined in so she wouldn't seem too distant. She was still glad when it ended and Lady Gloucester told them to go look around the rest of the garden, and they could find her in the lakehouse when they were ready to leave.

Bernadetta was already on Ferdinand's arm. He walked them both over to a nice little copse near the rose garden and asked, "Where would you like to start, Bernadetta?"

“I never meant to make any of this your problem,” she told him, which wasn’t an answer. She couldn’t stop herself. “The way I am, I mean. Because I do get like this sometimes, just really upset for a long time, and it isn’t your fault and it shouldn’t be your problem, so I’ll try to stay out of your hair when it happens, so I’m so sorry it’s happening when we just got married and should be celebrating! And I’m sorry people think it’s your fault!”

“...Somewhere quiet, maybe?” Ferdinand suggested, smiling so nervously that even Bernadetta could tell. He started walking, and Bernadetta went with him, still on his arm. “Like I said, I do not hold you responsible,” he reminded her. “Your life has changed in ways I doubt mine ever will. Even worse, you are the crested eldest daughter of a count; it is your birthright to take a husband who takes your name and goes to live in your house. It must be particularly difficult when you grew up expecting something else."

"A lot of what I expected hasn't happened," Bernie pointed out. They had found their way to a path circling the large, decorative pond. "Nothing has been the way I expected. It's all better than I thought it would be, but… I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

After a moment considering her words, Ferdinand said, "Well, you never know. Perhaps I snore at home."

"I mean it," Bernie protested. "You have always been kind and respectful, and I have been… untrusting. And I don't think I know how to fix that." She wanted to be reliable. She wanted to say what she felt all the time. Ferdinand did, and he wouldn't hold a grudge if she did the same. Still, she couldn't help feeling there was more, even though she knew it wasn't Ferdinand who had made her feel that way.

"If you have difficulty trusting me, then I will have to continue to be trustworthy," Ferdinand said, as if it was a completely natural response to a normal situation and not an enormous problem that emanated from Bernadetta. "If anything is my responsibility as a husband, that is. I would like you to feel safe and secure with me."

Men were never like that. Not really. The best you could hope was that they only showed their other side when they were very upset, and she had only seen Ferdinand in good times so far.

"Have you ever seen a horse broken, Bernadetta?" Ferdinand asked. "In the new style, not the old, cruel style?"

"We didn't use horses much in Varley," she admitted. "I probably wouldn't have been allowed to watch, anyway." It would certainly be too common to take an interest in anything to do with the training and care of horses.

"It is… almost a sort of welcoming," Ferdinand told her. "You teach them, by showing very clearly, that nothing you will do to them is harmful. You show them there is nothing to be afraid of." He put his other hand on her arm. She didn't know if it was comforting or controlling. "You  _ prove _ to them that they are safe." He put his hand back down at his side. "Sometimes, the horse requires a lot of proof. That is not a problem with the horse; your schedule is entirely determined by the horse's comfort, not the trainer's. Do you understand what I mean?"

"You want to break me," Bernie said. It wasn't like he was subtle.

"Break your fear," Ferdinand corrected her. "Not break your spirit. Or, you might say you are breaking yourself into this new life like a new pair of shoes: there is some pain along the way, but at the end, I hope you will be very comfortable. No big adjustment is going to be without a few bumps, but I will still do my best to smooth that way for you. Here, does that bench look enticing to you like it does for me?"

She agreed. She didn't have an opinion. She wanted to do whatever would move the conversation along so Ferdinand would stop comparing her to a horse. They sat on a bench by the lake under a silk floss tree, its ridiculous pink flowers still in bloom.

"I suppose what I mean is… I care very deeply about you," Ferdinand continued. "Your well-being and peace of mind are my highest priorities. Please do not think I will abandon you after only two weeks of marriage if you fail to act sufficiently… reciprocal."

Bernie leaned against him a little, looking out over the pond. She could see at least two separate gardens from that seat. "You've been very kind to me," she reminded her husband. "I  _ want _ to return the favor. But, when I tried to touch you the other night, you didn't like it. What  _ do _ you like?" Was it her? Was it him? She'd never gotten an answer for why he'd pulled away from her.

Ferdinand smiled at her very gently. It would be impossible to be afraid of someone with such a warm expression. "I would almost always like to kiss you," he told her. "I think…" He looked away. "I think we are meant to learn to run after we walk, and with that in mind, I would like to spend… really a lot of time with our clothes on before we try taking them off."

He was blushing a very, very sweet shade of pink. Bernie couldn't help smiling when she saw how bashful he was. "I liked it, too," she told him. "What we did in the rose garden, before we… I would like to do that with you." It was a strange blessing, but still a blessing. It was Bernadetta's very good fortune: a husband who didn't want to take her until she felt comfortable enough to enjoy it. "Maybe we could kiss here."

"In public?" Ferdinand asked. He looked more scandalized than Bernie at the idea.

"We are married," she reminded him. "We don't have to do anything more."

Ferdinand leaned down and kissed her quickly. When he pulled back and saw she was still smiling, he leaned in again for a longer kiss.

Yes, Bernadetta thought. They could figure this out. They were both trying, even if they were both constantly failing, and maybe the will to move forward was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Next chapter, we'll jump to the Academy Phase!


	7. First Week At School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Bernadetta settle into Garreg Mach. Ferdinand meets his classmates. Bernie goes to dinner and meets Seteth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world of Fire Emblem gave us thirty-something playable characters and not one single lady's maid or valet. The Aegir family was richer than God at the start, and then staged a sort of soft coup d'etat for more power, so there's no reason why Ferdinand and Bernadetta wouldn't have a cook when they're out of town, but if the Crown Princess can arrive at school without a maid or a companion, and that doesn't cause a stir, I guess it's fine to put Ferdie and Bernadetta in a little apartment alone???
> 
> Also, I decided to take all the extra ship tags out until those ships become relavent. As of this chapter, Hubert's been mentioned; he and Ferdie aren't getting together for A While, and he and Bernadetta will take even longer.

Moving to Garreg Mach was easier than Bernie had expected. Someone from the Duke’s household had been sent ahead to secure them an apartment in the town around the Monastery, since the dormitories in the castle were all singles. Even the trip there was nice; as they rode through the Oghmas, Bernadetta recognized the plants and biomes they passed, and the same granite and shale she'd grown up on, and the familiarity was comforting. On his first day at the Academy, Bernie let Ferdinand kiss her hand on his way out the door and then he was gone. Gone the whole day, and Bernadetta had their parlor and kitchen and bedroom all to herself. She and Ferdinand had taken to spending a healthy amount of time apart during the day, but she never forgot that her room was also his and he could return at any time. Now that he was at the Academy, she knew where he was all day. He had classes and independent study and she knew his plan was to start getting to know people, so he would probably be gone for dinner.

She pulled out a cookbook she’d barely looked at in months and made herself a lemon cake. Being alone at last filled her with energy; she could do whatever she liked, and nobody would bother her. She sang to herself as she cleaned up the stray flour and dirty mixing bowl. She wasn’t sure she remembered the last time she'd sung.

.-._.-._.-._

Beginning at the Academy was exhilarating. Ferdinand was glad he already knew a few people: Lorenz and Dorothea, and he was sure he’d seen Hubert von Vestra in passing before. His teachers were welcoming and all the Adrestians and a few nobles from Faerghus and Liecester congratulated him on his marriage.

“You should be bringing her to dinner tonight,” Petra cood. “I would love to be meeting your wife! I have heard she is all cute!”

Ferdie blushed. “She is just the cutest,” he agreed. “I adore her. She, ah-- she has some trouble with large crowds. I will ask her, but I can make no guarantees.”

Lady Edelgard frowned at that. “Do you think she would feel more comfortable one-on-one?” she asked. “Or maybe just the girls could go and meet her?”

“I haven’t seen her since you swept her away to Gloucester,” Dorothea pointed out. “Tell her that everyone is excited to call on her, okay? It must be hard, coming to a new city where she doesn’t know anyone; it’s important to make her feel welcome, even if she isn’t one of our classmates.”

Ferdie promised he would ask Bernadetta when she would be ready to meet his classmates, and then the topic changed to all of their individual interests. Then lunch was over and they all went back to class, and Ferdinand was stuck at school for a few more hours.

He swung by his apartment briefly between classes and dinner, partly to get cleaned up and partly to see how Bernie was settling in. And he was glad he did, because she didn’t seem to be doing too great.

“Aaaah! Who’s there?” she yelled when he opened the door. She had been in the parlor, but he heard her stand and walk toward the front.

“Just me,” Ferdinand called. “I apologize for startling you. How has your day been?”

“Oh, um, good,” she told him. “I didn’t expect you home so soon. Are you okay? Did something happen? Was it--”

“Nothing happened,” Ferdie interrupted. “Except that I learned I am a touch out of shape. I wanted to clean up before dinner, that is all. And to invite you; there are a number of Adrestians, including Dorothea, who you met over the summer, and Princess Edelgard and her retainer.” He walked to the washroom and started running warm water so he could wash his face. “They wanted to know if you could come to dinner tonight; they are all anxious to meet you. I am sure we could pull Lorenz away from the Liecester clique, as well; we have some very fond memories from Gloucester, do we not?”

Bernadetta nodded, but she looked a little upset.

“I told everyone you have trouble with crowds,” Ferdinand assured her as he wiped oil and dried sweat from his face and neck. “I promised to invite you, not to bring you. Though, if you turn the invitation down, you may get several callers in the coming week or so.” Bernadetta liked a lot of information. She liked to make informed decisions about how much socializing she had to do. “The girls, in particular, were excited to meet you. Dorothea sends her regards.”

“I can go,” Bernadetta told him, but she spoke very hesitantly. “It would be strange for your wife not to accompany you…”

“I am not concerned with what is normal or strange,” Ferdinand reminded her. It was a reminder he had to give frequently. “Do you think it would be fun for you? Perhaps you could come to dinner later in the week, when you have had more time to prepare?” He opened the top drawer of the vanity and pulled out his comb so he could re-style his hair; he didn’t want to look disheveled at team dinner.

“Oh. Yes, that sounds much nicer,” Bernie told him, and she finally sounded sincere.

“Excellent. I will be certain to tell them. May I kiss you before I head out?” Ferdinand asked. Bernadetta offered a hand and Ferdinand bowed and kissed it. “I trust you will be well? Something smells delicious…”

“I planned for dinner without you,” Bernadetta told him. “Go be with your classmates. You know I enjoy my solitude.”

He wanted to confirm that nothing was amiss: that she was adjusting well to the new location, that she had everything she needed to greet the evening peacefully, that nothing had happened during the day to set her on edge. But he didn’t want her to feel he was worrying over her like a child; she was half a year older than him, after all, and he didn’t want to give the impression he didn’t trust her to keep their household.

“You do seem very rested,” Ferdinand told her. Screaming aside, she was more spirited and confident than usual, but of course, screaming when he entered their apartment was a bad sign. And the light was starting to wane and there were no candles lit, but he knew Bernadetta liked low light, so perhaps it was better not to mention that. He turned back to the mirror to look himself in the eye and said, “You are Ferdinand von Aegir and you are going to make friends by acting in a way that befits a noble.”

“You are Ferdinand von Aegir and you are already kind and likeable,” Bernadetta’s soft voice added behind him. “Go enjoy dinner.”

He caught his wife’s eye in her reflection. “And you, Bernadetta von Aegir, are everything a man could want in a wife,” Ferdie reminded her. He turned to face her and added, “The Princess of Brigid is one of my classmates and she simply cannot wait to meet you and see how cute you are.”

“Um… Tell your classmates I can be there on Wednesday,” Bernadetta advised. “And I will do my best to go then.”

Ferdinand flashed her a smile and said, “Thank you for giving me a date,” and then he left his apartment and walked back up the hill to the Monastery. Twilight was coming on and the town looked lovely and peaceful in the soft light. It felt good to take a leisurely walk after a day of hard exercise. He only got slightly lost on the way to the dining hall, and the Bergliez boy waved him over to the Black Eagles table once he had gotten some food.

“Your wife is not being with you?” Petra asked as he sat down.

“She has difficulty changing plans at the last minute,” Ferdinand told her, smiling. “She sends her regards, and says she would be delighted to join us on Wednesday evening.”

That shut down that line of questioning. Dorothea said that Bernadetta was “just the sweetest, you guys; you’re all going to love her,” and then they resumed talking about classes, and home, and new news and rumors, and nobody seemed to worry.

On his way home, he enjoyed the cool night air on his face. When he approached his building, he looked up to the second floor, where he and Bernie were living, and saw the light inside was still dim, like there were only one or two candles lit. He frowned and let himself in.

Before unlocking the door, he knocked this time. Bernadetta didn’t scream, so he made a mental note that a bit of extra warning was helpful. As he’d thought, his wife was sitting in the parlor, with only one candle beside her (and only an inch of candle left) as she did something with a stick and some yarn, and she looked up at him as he walked past the kitchen to greet her.

“Welcome home,” she said, smiling at him. “I am sorry you caught me off guard earlier. How was your dinner with your classmates?”

“It was good,” Ferdinand told her. “They are excited to meet you. Why are you sitting in the dark?” Had she moved at all since he left?

“My eyes adjusted to the light,” she said. That was fair enough -- his eyes were also adjusted to low light -- but it didn’t answer why she had only lit one candle in the first place. “I can light more when I’m expecting you. I didn’t mean to make our home unwelcoming.” She stood, setting her project aside, and turned to kneel by the end table. She opened one of the drawers. “I’m so sorry. Of course you would want a nicely lit home. I will be certain things are nice for you now that I know what you expect. I am very new to running a household; I promise I’ll get better!”

“I was not asking for my own sake,” Ferdinand told her. He was getting better at ignoring her accusations that he was angry with her, and instead had learned to focus on reassuring her. “But we have enough candlesticks, and the matches gave you no trouble? I was just worried you might have been bored, sitting alone in a dimly-lit room, or there might be something I did not think to ask.”

“Oh… No, I am well,” she told him, but she stuck a candle to a candle holder and lit it. “Here. I can light the ones on the mantle, too. Or-- I didn’t think to light a fire because it was warm today, but if you enjoy the warmth at night, I can--”

“I really am not worried about myself,” Ferdinand repeated, and he went to stand between Bernadetta and the fireplace, which stopped her nervous bustling. “I can light candles as well as anyone. But I came home earlier and you screamed like I had broken down the door, and now I have come home to find you were sitting alone in the near-dark for at least two hours while I was off having a fun dinner with my classmates.” He looked down and took her hands, which she let him hold. “I know your first day in a new place can be difficult, but I want to ensure you have everything you need.”

“I had a very nice day,” Bernadetta assured him. “I did startle a bit earlier, since I didn’t expect you home until after dinner, but I got to cook for the first time in a while, and I had so much fun crocheting that I lost track of time. I also did some writing this afternoon. You know I enjoy being alone; I wouldn’t have had any fun if you had brought me to dinner, not like the fun you had.”

Ferdinand nodded. “I know. I only wonder what  _ would  _ be fun for you, so you do not end up isolated.” She grew up with two sisters; even without many friends, she had always had people around. “There is certainly nothing wrong with some solitude, but I hope you will not be lonely here.”

“You are very considerate,” Bernadetta told him. “But I think just meeting your class on Wednesday will be about as much as I can handle in a week.”

Ferdinand didn’t frown; Bernadetta got upset when he frowned, even when it wasn’t at her. He kept his expression pleasant as he said, “How remiss of me; of course you will need some time to wind down after such an eventful summer. But, if a time comes when you feel lonely and would like to begin meeting people, please do not hesitate to ask for my help. Since I am the one dragging you all the way out to the Centerlands, of course it is my obligation to help make this transition easy on you.”

“It will be a while until I start feeling lonely,” Bernadetta told him, but she didn’t look at him. “I hope you won’t worry about me…”

He didn’t know how not to worry about her when she did such worrying things, but he said, “As long as you are content, that is what matters.” He wondered if she hoped he would spend more time at school and less at home, if she was so desperate for time alone. “Would you like to tell me about your day? It sounds like you found it very relaxing.”

“Oh. Um. Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, so he sat on the couch with her. “I made a cake this morning,” she told him. “A lemon cake, and I still have some left if you want some. But I ate about a third of it, just to start making some good memories here. Then I spent the afternoon writing and started a new crochet project, and I had a nice dinner and crocheted some more, and then you came home.”

Ferdinand kept himself from asking if that was really enough for her. He had met a few dozen people and begun his studies in a handful of subjects, and while that was tiring, it gave him a fun, enriching year to look forward to. But, if Bernadetta said she was content with starting slow and building momentum, he had no choice but to believe her. He wouldn’t want to accuse his own wife of lying.

“That sounds very relaxing,” he said instead of anything negative. “We have had a very exciting summer; I am glad you are finding some serenity.” She hadn’t had as exciting a summer as he had, though. She had stayed in her rooms or wandered the gardens alone. Where would she go to begin making friends?

“What about your day?” Bernadetta asked. “You saw Miss Arnault and Lorenz, right? And the Princess, and lots of others?”

Ferdinand launched into an explanation of the many people he’d met, classmates and teachers alike, and the layout of the Monastery, and the conversation at lunch and dinner. Bernadetta listened, quiet and attentive, and Ferdinand hoped his explanations would help her feel more comfortable when she came to dinner.

.-._.-._.-._

Group dinners were exhausting, and Linhardt was working on a way to weasel out of them, but three days into the school year, Caspar was still enthusiastically dragging him along and Linhardt wasn’t yet so tired that dealing with his classmates’ disapproval sounded worse than dealing with their excitement and chatter.

And Mrs. Aegir was coming. That was pretty cool.

The rumors from the Enbarr Contingent were that their own ray of sunshine, Ferdinand von Aegir, had treated her so violently during their wedding that some of the attendees had checked in on them for the rest of the week until they’d run off to Gloucester. Linhardt was getting sick of holding his tongue, so he was actually a little excited to see if Bernadetta von Aegir née Varley really gave the impression of a woman with a controlling, violent husband. Ferdinand, from what Linhardt could tell, had the temperament of an overeager puppy dog, like those devoted hounds his family bred, but maybe something would slot into place when he saw the two of them together.

Most people thought Linhardt didn’t like or appreciate gossip. Unfortunately, that was patently untrue. What Linhardt didn’t like was discussing gossip, since there were vanishingly few people whose opinions he valued. As it turned out, he actually very much enjoyed gossip when he overheard it and wasn't expected to actually participate in the conversation, and also when he knew the characters personally.

So, despite himself, he left the library without terribly much complaining when Caspar came to drag him to dinner and went to the big group meal.

Dinner with Caspar and dinner with the Eagles were opposite events for one very simple reason: Linhardt enjoyed Caspar’s company, and didn’t particularly like any of the Black Eagles. Caspar’s presence was the only thing that made the others bearable. At the start of dinner, it looked like Mrs. Aegir had a similar relationship with her husband: she would really have preferred not to come at all, judging by how quiet and flinching she was, but she stuck by her husband’s side and even leaned against his shoulder sometimes.

“Didn’t I tell you she’s the cutest?” Dorothea exclaimed, and Petra leaned around Linhardt to yell, “I had heard she was all adorable, and the rumors are all being true!”

Caspar, ever the socialite, asked, “So, are you liking Garreg Mach, Mrs. Aegir? Oh-- do we call you Bernadetta, since you’re Ferdinand’s wife, or do we call you Mrs. Aegir since you aren’t in the Academy?”

“Mrs. Aegir is fine,” Mrs. Aegir said, her voice barely audible in the noisy dining hall, looking down at her plate. “And you were… Mr. Caspar von Bergliez?”

“Just Caspar,” Caspar told you. “Nice to meet you!”

“Y-you, too,” Mrs. Aegir said without looking at him.

“It must be hard, moving so early in your marriage,” Edelgard tried. “Have you thought about how you might start making friends? Maybe a church activity, like the choir?”

“Oh, I don’t really like meeting people,” Mrs. Aegir told her, which Linhardt could definitely relate to, but it didn’t exactly bode well.

“Bernadetta gets overwhelmed easily,” Ferdinand told them all, and the scale in Linhardt’s head tilted just a bit more toward the ‘battered woman being intentionally isolated by her shitheel husband’ possibility.

“Meeting new people always is being difficult,” Petra soothed. “Already knowing people is the fun.”

“I was going to join the church choir, if you want to do something with a friend,” Dorothea offered.

“Oh! Um. I… I-I wouldn’t want you to feel… obligated…” Mrs. Aegir said, which was a  _ fascinating  _ response to such a friendly offer of companionship.

“Nonsense! I’m just a big chatterbox, so maybe I could help you connect with some people,” Dorothea pushed.

Mrs. Aegir stammered out some noises that didn’t sound like either a yes or a no, and finally said, “That’s very kind of you,” which Linhardt noticed wasn’t any sort of commitment to actually join the choir. Ferdinand’s smile looked tense, like he was nervous about something.

Edelgard tried again, with, “Ferdinand said you aren’t very good with crowds. Maybe I could come and call on you later this week? I have a long lunch tomorrow.”

Mrs. Aegir answered that with, “Our apartment is a little tricky to find,” which was an impressively difficult-to-protest ‘no.’

Edelgard, of course, had been trained in etiquette and rhetoric her whole life, so she said, “Let me take you out to lunch, then, just the two of us. Somewhere along the main street, so we can both find our ways back easily.”

"Um… I… I guess… I mean, when you put it like that…" After a few moments of Bernadetta stammering and stalling, Ferdinand frowned, touched her shoulder, and whispered in her ear.

Bernadetta smiled then, and nodded to Edelgard in a sort of proto-bow, and said, "Thank you very much for the invitation, but… I have a lot of trouble with crowds? Even walking through town can be a little much for me." She looked up, and looked around the table, and said, "I'm very sorry. I know you all wanted to meet me, but I'm not actually very fun to meet. I don't go out much, or do very many things. I'm sorry."

Linhardt finally remembered to look at Ferdinand. He would have put another tally strongly on the 'battered woman' side of the board if Ferdinand didn't have an absolutely raw look of despair on his face. He recovered quickly, plastering on a smile so fake even Linhardt could tell it wasn't real, and said, "Going out will get easier, I promise. It was not so hard coming here tonight, was it?"

"Of course, everything is easier with you by my side," Mrs. Aegir said, looking down, and Linhardt truly, from the bottom of his soul,  _ could not parse what the fuck was going on _ , but he could tell it was high-key Weird.

The whole situation was tiring. Linhardt wasn't going to get any clarity from paying attention, so he asked Caspar if he'd discovered an underground wrestling ring or just fallen off a wyvern, and Caspar's response of "They meet under a bridge, actually, not underground!" was just about the right speed for Linhardt after three straight days of classes.

Maybe no one would notice if he skipped one occasionally for a nap. He could probably get away with that.

He chatted easily with Caspar for the rest of dinner. The real performance, as it turned out, was not the horrifying(?) first impression Mrs. Aegir had made, but her outburst closer to the end.

"I'm sorry!" she said when Linhardt was just digging into his dessert. He hadn't heard raised voices from the other side of the table for a while, and he'd long since switched places with Petra so she would have better access to their guest. He glanced over and Mrs. Aegir looked very stressed, her shoulders and face tense. "I think I need to leave. I'm so sorry. I stayed as long as I could. I just-- I'm really not good with crowds, and you've all been very nice to me, but I need to go. I'm so sorry!" And then she was gone, sprinting across the dining hall on her short little legs.

Ferdinand was out of his seat almost as fast. He followed after her, calling, "Bernadetta? Bernie, wait!"

Linhardt got up, too, just for the hell of it. He faced the Black Eagles table and put a finger to his lips as he followed their resident married couple out into the hall.

He paused behind the door and was glad he did, because he could hear Mrs. Aegir having some kind of breathing trouble, or maybe just crying very strangely, on the other side of the wall.

"I'm so sorry--"

"Shhh, Bernie. Everything is okay. Really. They all liked you!" Ferdinand's voice was gentle. It sounded like when he talked to his horse. "What did I say before? Nearly everyone wanted to meet you one-on-one. And look at you: you made it almost all the way through dinner! And you told us when it got to be too much, and I am  _ so proud of you _ for that."

"Ferdinand, I embarrassed you," Mrs. Aegir hissed in, presumably, the lowest voice she could manage through her tears. "I made a scene! Now everybody knows how badly you married, and--"

"I did not marry badly," Ferdinand snapped. "I will not allow you to speak so low of yourself. You are Bernadetta von Aegir, my beautiful, amazing wife. You came to meet my classmates even though you knew it would be difficult, and you did a spectacular job. I am infinitely proud of you for telling us when you needed to leave. Here. Take this, and we can go for a stroll around the courtyard and then back home. The later we go, the fewer people we will see on the street. Does that sound okay?"

Linhardt walked back to the dining table. He'd heard enough to know that, whatever was going on, it wasn't coming from Ferdinand.

"Well?" Hubert snapped once Linhardt was seated.

"Ferdinand seems fine," Linhardt told him with a shrug. "Kind of weird how not-suspicious their conversation was. They're going for a walk."

"That Mrs. Aegir was something," Edelgard remarked idly. "Very anxious, and I should like to know why."

One of the Golden Deer -- the purple one, who made Linhardt's shoulders tense whenever he saw him -- descended on their table then, saying. "Was Mrs. Aegir here for dinner? Shame; I would have liked to see her again."

"You came at just the right time, Lorenz," Dorothea cood as Linhardt willed the man (and his noxiously sweet cologne) to at least walk to the other side of the table. "You were there when the rumors got started. So, Ferdinand's marriage: weird or okay?"

Lorenz paused for a moment with a very fake smile on his face. Linhardt despised him. "Mrs. Aegir startles easily and gets distraught with too many people around, but she came to Enbarr that way. It is simply her temperament. I have never seen Ferdinand be anything but gentle with her. In Gloucester, he was very insistent that we allow her as much space as she needed. There is nothing amiss between the two of them."

Some thanks were thrown his way, and some additional questions, and Linhardt didn't see Lorenz going away any time soon, so he made eye contact with Caspar and quietly excused himself from dinner. He wanted to explore the library and go to bed.

.-._.-._.-._

The first Thursday of term, during study break, a runner came to request Ferdinand go to Seteth's office. The Eagles paid him little mind as he packed his things and went.

Seteth's office was elegant and pristine. There were tapestries and a bookshelf so the walls weren't bare stone, and the furnishings were less imposing than Ferdinand would have expected from a man with such a severe glare. He put his book bag down on a chair and said, "You asked to see me, sir?"

"Ah, yes. Sit down," and he gestured to the chair, so Ferdinand moved his bag to the floor and sat down.

"I asked you here to discuss your wife," Seteth told him. "That was her at dinner last night?"

"Er. Yes," Ferdinand admitted. "I apologize for any disruption; she gets quite nervous around large groups of people." He didn't like saying it to someone who didn't know her. She worked so hard to conquer her nerves; he didn't like telling people about Bernadetta's challenges when she had so many good qualities.

Seteth nodded. “You understand there are certain rumors that started after your marriage this summer?” he confirmed.

...Right. He’d nearly forgotten, but of course, if all someone had heard of him was that he had treated his wife roughly so early in their marriage, and then he failed to bring her to dinner for two days, and then she had to flee before dessert because she was so distraught, that would naturally arouse some suspicion.

“I am well aware,” he confirmed, but how could he tell a high-ranking member of the Church that he hadn’t properly consummated his marriage? “I know my word will mean little, but Lorenz von Gloucester can vouch for me. He was my groomsman, and he knows all the circumstances.”

Seteth squared the papers on his desk and dipped his pen in a way that somehow looked accusatory. “Why don’t you give me your version of the circumstances? Just to see if I believe you.”

Ferdinand felt himself blush. He couldn’t look at Seteth. “Well, the incriminating object was the handkerchief,” he said. “I do not know if it is the custom this far north, but in Enbarr, we… To ensure consummation happens, we--”

“I am aware,” Seteth said. “There was judged to be a fair amount too much blood.”

“The blood was mine,” Ferdie blurted out. “We did not get any blood from the… the act, so I pricked myself on the arm. Please understand: I have no doubts at all about Bernadetta. I only wanted to ensure she was not embarrassed in front of both our families. We judged the amount wrong, and some disturbing rumors were started.”

Seteth was writing. Ferdinand did his best to sit still while he waited for the older man to put his pen down. When he did, he looked at Ferdinand and said, “You understand I will be confirming this with both Lorenz and your wife?”

“Of course, that is the best course of action,” Ferdinand agreed. “Do you know when you want to speak with Bernadetta? She has some difficulty taking callers she is not expecting.”

“I should be able to get all of this sorted out today,” Seteth told him, finally looking down again, but his words made Ferdinand’s nervousness spike.

He wanted to ask Seteth not to judge her too harshly for her nerves. He wanted to ask anybody older than him what could possibly be done to help his wife adjust to Garreg Mach after he did such a miserable job of helping her adjust to Enbarr. But he was already under suspicion for abuse, so how could he ask for help with things that might seem to be his own fault? Would he seem to be at fault, regardless, for not asking for help before? He just had to hope that Bernadetta would be able to talk to Seteth, even after her difficult excursion last night. She was very capable, despite her fears; he wouldn’t want to say anything else that cast doubt on her social skills.

He especially wouldn’t want to say anything that cast doubt on the way he treated her. He would never hurt her, of course, but it was one thing to know it and another to prove it. Casting doubt on himself would only prolong the investigation, and that would mean more interviews with Bernadetta, which would surely be stressful to her.

Ferdinand didn’t know what to do, except to smile and say, “Excellent. As far as I know, she was planning to stay home today, so you should have no trouble calling on her.”

Seteth nodded. “Is there anything else you would like to mention? About her outburst last night, or anything else you would want me to hear from you rather than someone else?”

Ferdie shook his head. “I was very proud of her last night,” he told the priest. “It takes no small effort for her to meet new people, and she was rather the center of attention. I was glad she told us when she no longer felt comfortable.”

Seteth’s hand paused mid-page. He looked up and said, “Most men would not be glad their wife had caused a scene.”

“I am not most men,” Ferdinand reminded him. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir, and I am determined to act in a way befitting a noble. Bernadetta is very considerate, and often puts other people’s interests before her own. I was delighted to see her representing her own interests, even if it meant causing a small disturbance.” Finally, a moment when he could say something nice about Bernadetta. It was a relief to be able to compliment her.

Seteth said, “I see” in a slow, drawn-out way that implied he didn’t believe a word Ferdinand was saying, and Ferdie reminded himself that he was sitting still, he was not picking at his gloves, he was not going to pick at the braid on his sleeves, he was sitting. Still.

Sitting still under such circumstances was extremely difficult.

“Alright, if there’s nothing else, you can go,” Seteth said at last. “Get back to your studies.”

The next person he was going to talk to was Lorenz. Lorenz, who knew, and who wasn’t practiced in lying about the wedding day.

“I misspoke earlier,” Ferdinand admitted. “I… am in the habit of telling the handkerchief story in a certain way. I did not mean it as a lie, though it will probably seem like one. But there are certain expectations during a wedding, and I would never want to embarrass Bernadetta by admitting to what really happened. But, since you will be speaking with Lorenz, and he knows the whole truth, I feel I should tell you so you do not feel there are any gaps in our stories.”

Seteth raised his eyebrows at him.

“The truth is, we… we did not consummate our marriage during the wedding.” He could barely stand to say it louder than a whisper. “I saw how beautiful she was, and I realized that my own clumsy abilities were not what she deserved. I lost my nerve. That was why there was no blood, and why we did not know what the right amount would be. I know a marriage is not truly confirmed under the Goddess until it is celebrated in the marriage bed, but I was… Please understand, we are young. And I am not worldly in that way. So, when I said we did not get enough blood from the act, I really meant we did not do the act in the first place, so of course there was no blood.” It was such a small lie when it was just a prick on his arm, but now it felt like, every time someone asked about it, he had to tell them the entire saga in greater and greater detail.

Seteth’s eyes were closed, like he was in pain or thinking very hard. After several seconds, when Ferdie was finally convinced he had truly and irreparably screwed up by telling a high-ranking Church member that it had taken a long time to marry under the Goddess, and to the daughter of the Minister of Religion, no less, Seteth met his eyes and said, “And I suppose nobody bothered to tell you that’s entirely normal?”

Ferdie’s mind stopped short. It took him a moment to process the words. “Excuse me, did you say…?”

“Particularly in young couples,” Seteth confirmed, nodding. “Many delay consummation, or do it on the wedding night and then it doesn’t happen again for months. As long as you’ve been getting closer and becoming more comfortable with each other, there is nothing to worry about.”

Ferdinand’s eyes felt sore. He hoped he wouldn’t cry. “I thought I was just… very disappointing to her,” he admitted. “I am so glad.” Maybe he was, anyway; she had certainly requested consummation a great many times before he had managed to perform it. But at least he wasn’t doing worse than other young men his age. He blinked a few times.

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Seteth wouldn’t look at him. Ferdie had made their meeting uncomfortable. He needed to stop coming on so strong about every topic. “Clearly, you are very committed to your marriage, if you were so concerned something was amiss. Has anything else felt strange to you?”

“Not particularly.” Some things seemed unusual about Bernadetta, personally, but not about their relationship. They were both doing their best in the marriage. And he didn’t want to make Seteth more uncomfortable. "Thank you very much for your advice today. I would not have expected such a perspective from a priest, but now I am glad I raised the topic."

"It is certainly a great blessing to celebrate your marriage with your spouse," Seteth agreed. "It is, arguably, a greater blessing to find joy and comfort in your marriage, which is not defined by any particular act. There is no quota; you are already married."

And nobody would expect a young lady of seventeen to bear a child, Seteth didn't say, but Ferdinand understood him all the same. Perhaps that was part of the reason Bernadetta wanted to keep some physical distance: it was completely reasonable to assume things would escalate, and then she would be left to bear the physical burden of their love. Ferdinand would have to be more assertive in establishing boundaries, to ensure she knew he would not accidentally harm her in his attempts to get closer.

"I will have much to discuss with Bernadetta this evening," Ferdinand admitted. "I hope your conversation with her goes well."

"I am less worried than I was before," Seteth conceded. "But, as you say, since the health of the student body is partly my responsibility, I will still be talking with her today. That is all; get back to your studies."

Ferdinand nodded and stood to leave. He thanked Seteth briefly for talking with him first, and then returned to study hall.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta was in the middle of an especially exciting scene, where the heroine finally told off her father for his mistreatment of her, when a knock at the door caused her to draw a line halfway across the page. She closed her writing desk and went to the door.

"Hello?" she asked without opening it.

"Hello, Mrs. Aegir? I am Seteth, one of the priests from Garreg Mach."

Oh, no. This was about the disturbance she caused yesterday. Ferdinand was so nice about it, but of course she'd caused a disruption to the student body. She should have pretended she wasn't home.

She cracked open the door just a bit. The man was certainly dressed like a priest, and he looked too distinctive to be a kidnapper, so she opened the door wider. "Um. Hello. Come in. I'm so sorry about yesterday. I don't like getting loud like that, and I definitely didn't mean to, and it's okay if you don't want me to come back again!"

Mr. Seteth frowned at her. He was still standing in the doorway. "I only wanted to discuss your husband," he told her. "May I come in?"

Bernie sprang away from the door. "Oh! Right," she said. "Sorry. Yes, come in. Can I get you tea or anything? Water?"

"I just had some tea," Mr. Seteth told her calmly as he followed her into the parlor. He sat down on the loveseat and Bernie sat on the couch, hoping the scene she'd made the previous evening wasn't going to cause Ferdinand too much trouble.

"Now, Mrs. Aegir, I have spoken with your husband and Mr. Gloucester about the events of your wedding that sparked some rumors. They have given me their versions of events. Before I ask you about your opinion, I want to be exceedingly clear: the Church has the power to offer you asylum. Whatever you choose to disclose, I will personally ensure you are kept safe for as long as you need. The Church of Sothis works in tandem with the governments of our continent's three great nations, but we still have our own power and are able to offer aid like any monastery, regardless of, for example, the political status of an asylum-seeker. Do you understand?"

Bernie could only look down at her lap. She didn't know how to share her dismay. "You want to lock me away because you think Ferdinand has been cruel to me," she summarized. "When he has only been kind, and it was my own shortcomings that were on display last night."

"I do not want to do anything without careful consideration," Mr. Seteth said. "Let me rephrase: I want to reassure you that you will be safe no matter what you tell me about your husband."

Safety wasn't real. It was always fleeting, no matter what Mr. Seteth said. But it didn't actually matter, because Ferdinand was a better husband than she had ever dared to hope for. "I have nothing bad to tell you," she said. "Ferdinand has always been a perfect gentleman."

"I am glad to hear it," Mr. Seteth said. "I apologize if my checking in seems intrusive. I would rather come across a bit rude than leave a young person stranded when they needed help."

“I don’t really like taking callers,” Bernie told him. “I really enjoy my solitude. If you need to come in the future, could you tell Ferdinand a few days in advance, so he can warn me?"

Mr. Seteth didn't speak for a couple seconds, and then he said, "No. No, I could not. Because part of the point of this visit is to ensure that your actual home life is adequate, and that it is not a facade put forward to make things seem okay. Why do you want me to tell Ferdinand, in particular?"

Bernie smiled. That was a joke, right? "Well, he's my husband," she said. "He lives here. I can't exactly avoid seeing him."

Mr. Seteth's eyes narrowed. "Do you ever wish you didn't have to see him?"

"I frequently wish I was the only human being in the whole world," she admitted. "That would be so peaceful. Or that I could have a whole country all to myself, where no one would ever bother me. But having Ferdinand gone most of the day is close enough to being alone. I was even starting to feel, before you knocked and startled me, that I've been able to spend so much time alone without worrying about interruptions that I am even starting to enjoy thinking of Ferdinand's return. That maybe I can enjoy some company, if it's him and I'm expecting him."

"So, you enjoy seeing your husband? As much as you enjoy seeing anyone?" Mr. Seteth asked.

Bernie nodded. "Yes. Sorry if that wasn't clear. I like him very much. Ferdinand is very considerate."

"He said the same thing of you," Mr. Seteth told her with a smile.

Bernie looked down. She had never met anyone who praised her as readily as Ferdinand. "He is always full of compliments and kind words. I have never met anyone as nice as him."

"Mrs. Aegir, there is one particular incident I need to ask you about," Mr. Seteth told her. "I'm afraid it is a delicate subject, so I hope I will not disturb you too deeply with it. It is to do with events during your wedding. The handkerchief. Your husband and Mr. Gloucester explained a certain series of events, but I wonder if yours will be the same. Please remember that you can tell me anything; I am here to collect facts, not to judge you."

Mr. Seteth was a priest. Possibly a bishop, from the brocade lining of his cape and the circlet he wore. He knew the laws of the Goddess, and he would know exactly how shameful it was to be only half-married for so long.

It was time to use the truly excellent lie that Ferdinand had come up with.

"When we consummated our marriage, we were very concerned that there was not enough blood because neither of us knew how much was enough, not having been to many weddings. Ferdinand pricked himself on the arm to supplement it. His only intent was to save me any embarrassment." Ferdinand liked to say it without directly saying they had done the act, since that was the bigger lie, but it wouldn't do for such a high-ranking Church member to know they hadn't fully married each other on the first day.

"That does concern me slightly," Mr. Seteth told her, and he was frowning, he was frowning at  _ her _ , he didn't believe her and he knew her marriage to Ferdinand was a sham until their honeymoon. "Because I heard the same story about the blood from both of the gentlemen I talked to, but they both claimed you had not consummated your marriage that day. Do you know why they would lie about something so trivial?"

Trivial? "Trivial? It is hardly trivial for a man and a woman to be only half-married. There are a lot of things that can happen before the contract is completely sealed, so it is always best to do it quickly. My husband is an honorable man, Mr. Seteth. He would not keep me in such a state indefinitely."

Mr. Seteth startled when she spoke up. Good. She was fearful, not spineless.

"I have met a great many honorable young men who delayed consummation until they felt more comfortable," Mr. Seteth told her. "The earthly contract is still a contract. It is a commitment. And, when these respectable, married young people come to me, asking whether they have done something wrong, all I ask them is: are you committed to each other? Are you working toward physical intimacy in smaller steps that feel more comfortable for you? And the answer is almost always 'yes.' Where is the shame in being half-married if you intend to become fully married?"

"It is-- not how things are done," Bernie protested. "My father is the Minister of Religion. If he even suspected that Ferdinand and I had not-- it is important for the Minister of Religion's daughters to be married properly, with all due process of earthly and heavenly law."

"I have seen many slow marriages that were executed correctly," Mr. Seteth said. "The custom of eastern Adrestia is to immediately seal the religious side of the contract, but that is not the custom everywhere, and in fact, for many people across Fódlan who do not stand to inherit or to pass down a crest, it is of very little concern. As I am sure you understand, religion is not only in the religious texts themselves, but in how those texts are interpreted and integrated into the customs of the land. I stand between Fódlan's three great nations, and all of them have different customs concerning church services, weddings, funerals, and even daily prayer. None of those customs make someone a bad practitioner of religion, or a less authentic member of the Church of Sothis. My only concern, when I decided to come to your house today, was to ensure that you have a peaceful home. It is clear to me that, regardless of whether I take your word or your husband's, no violence was committed on your wedding day or afterward. I will not bother you again. If you ever need help, though, or even just some advice, I am available most of the time your husband is in class and my office is easy to find."

Guilt gnawed at the back of Bernie’s mind. Mr. Seteth, despite rudely intruding into Bernie’s nice, peaceful afternoon, did come with good intentions. And she had basically told him that Ferdinand lied to him, and Ferdinand never lied. He was a much better person than Bernie.

“I don’t want you to think Ferdinand is a liar,” she said. “He is a very honorable man. I only didn’t want you to think there was anything amiss in our marriage. Ferdinand… He did his best, but he… It was not his fault.” He would never say as much, but Bernie knew it was because he was an idealist who had imagined her to be beautiful before they met. “It was like you said: young couples have trouble sometimes,” she lied. She knew the cause of their trouble, but it was better not to point out her own shortcomings while she could help it.

Mr. Seteth smiled at her. He almost looked like a different person from the stern, dispassionate man she’d been talking to. “I thought perhaps,” he told her. “Your husband did the same thing for the same reason. It’s nice to see that you value each other’s reputations. I believe that concludes my interview, but do you have any questions for me? About either religion or the Academy?”

“Um… Ferdinand said the students have chore rotations. How long do the chores usually take?”

“Not more than an hour or two,” Mr. Seteth told her readily. “Most students do their chores between classes and dinner so they have their evenings free. Why do you ask?"

Bernie looked down at her lap. "Oh, I just wanted to be certain I knew when to expect him home. I enjoy being with people more when I was expecting them."

Mr. Seteth looked at her for a moment and then asked, "Do you think it would be helpful for you to come to dinner with your husband's friends sometimes? Even just once a week? I understand the pull of solitude, but I would not want Ferdinand's commitments to leave you alone and lonely in a strange town."

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Bernie told him. “Not after last night. I was so rude to them, even when they were only nice to me, leaving in a rush like that. I must have left a terrible impression. I felt horrible, since of course then everyone could see how badly Ferdinand married, but I felt like everyone in the room must be staring at me, and that made me feel faint, so I had to leave.”

“I would encourage you to try, anyway,” Mr. Seteth insisted. “The Adrestians at the Academy right now will be your peers and contemporaries in years to come; if you get to know them now, it will ease the way for you and your husband later on. And I really doubt they felt much more than worry for you; I was a couple tables away, granted, but I felt more worry than anything when I saw your exit.”

“Oh, you  _ were  _ watching me!” Bernie pointed out. “You see? I just can’t stand the idea of everybody watching me and judging. And, if I go again, everyone will know me as the girl who interrupted their dinner.”

“I have an idea,” Mr. Seteth said, not-so-smoothly changing the subject. “I have some writings on St. Indech -- you have his crest, right? -- that I think you may find helpful. Could I send them home with your husband, for you to look at? St. Indech was known for being very shy, even secluding himself at the bottom of a lake, but he still managed to achieve great things through his inventions.”

“The saint of plumbers,” Bernie’s mouth supplied automatically. “And tradespeople and eccentrics. I haven’t read much about him.” She knew the saints, of course, but she didn’t know their stories very well.

“It might be helpful for you to read some stories of him,” Mr. Seteth said. “Especially paying attention to how he acted and how the lakeside villagers perceived him. I do not think there is much I can say that will convince you that the Adrestian students liked you, but perhaps reading a book about a similar character would make my point clearer.”

"I do like reading," Bernie conceded. And this small apartment was low on space to store books, though it didn't matter much because they hadn't been allowed to take more than a few from Duke Aegir's library. "I could take a look at it, but I will make you no guarantees."

"Then I will try to send it tonight," Mr. Seteth promised. "Is there anything else I can assist you with? I know you are not technically a student of the Academy, but I would still say you are part of the student community through your marriage."

"And we are clear about the state of my marriage?" Bernie confirmed. "You won't bother Ferdinand about it anymore?"

"I have seen nothing about your relationship that merits my concern," Mr. Seteth told her. "From what I can tell, Mr. Aegir is an upstanding young man, and if I do not see any evidence to the contrary, I will not have any reason to investigate. However, if you ever feel unsafe, or even uncertain, I am of course available to talk to."

"I appreciate the offer," Bernie told him, but she wouldn't need to take him up on it. Ferdinand was the most harmless man she'd ever met, and even if he wasn't, she could withstand men at their worst. "I will look forward to receiving that book."

"I'll just be on my way, then," Mr. Seteth said, and stood. Bernadetta stood, too, and she knew this part: she knew the proper way to see a guest out of her home, and she walked him to the door and smiled and said the formal goodbye she knew by heart. And then she locked her door and went to sit on the couch and think about that whole exchange.

If Mr. Seteth was telling the truth -- and he did seem to be -- she couldn't know how Ferdinand would feel when he came home that evening. He had handled everything so far with graciousness and good humor, but he valued his honor and reputation very highly, and people changed when something dear to them was threatened. She felt nauseous just thinking about it.

She stewed on her apprehension for the next few hours, despite herself. She tried to think positively, focus on how she had gotten Mr. Seteth to leave without suspecting Ferdinand at all (surely a favorable outcome) and remember that Mr. Seteth had found the handkerchief story unremarkable and likely would not repeat it, but she had little control over her thoughts.

Ferdinand arrived home a few minutes after 6:30, even though he usually stayed out past seven with his Black Eagles friends. Bernie was in the middle of her small dinner when he returned.

"Oh-- um-- it is good to see you home," she said automatically, standing from their small dining table, where she'd been reading her own work. She closed the notebook so Ferdinand wouldn't be able to see her writing. She became acutely aware that she hadn't lit any extra candles to make their apartment more welcoming. Perhaps, since it was twilight instead of evening, Ferdinand wouldn't mind too much.

"It is always nice to be home," Ferdinand reassured her with a smile as he removed his shoes and set something down on the console table. "I must apologize; I was not able to give you any warning that Seteth was coming. I hope he did not upset you too much."

"I was going to apologize to you," Bernie corrected him. "Because of my actions, your honor was brought into question. I'm so sorry."

"It would have happened at some point," Ferdinand said, as if it was a casual subject and nothing to worry about. "Though I… I need to tell you what Seteth knows about us." He started unbuttoning his jacket and was able to face her as he spoke. His eyes looked downright mournful. "I promise, I would not have said anything if he was not going to interview both you and Lorenz. I wanted to ensure that I told him the truest story. So he knows it was some time until we consummated our marriage. But, as it turns out, he has a unique perspective on that topic because of his role as a priest, and he says that is no concern at all for a young couple like ourselves."

"I told him, too," Bernadetta admitted. "He told me what you said, and elaborated on his opinion, and I felt so guilty from implying that you had lied to him that I told him."

Ferdinand's expression changed from a small, pleasant smile to an all-out grin. "I suppose he knows a great deal about how to deal with teenagers," he said, and then his expression sobered again. "I am so glad he spoke with us today, or I would have thought I was alone in losing my nerve and failing to satisfy you. I had put the topic out of my mind, but only because I had no way to do anything about it. It is a great relief to have talked with him."

Bernie was looking down at her shaking hands. "A great relief," she agreed. But, if he was relieved, then why was he home so early? She looked up at him and asked, "Have you eaten yet?"

Ferdinand finished with his jacket and walked toward her holding it. "I ate quickly," he told her. "I wanted to ensure Seteth's unannounced visit did not cause you too much distress. I know how callers upset you."

Bernie shook her head and said, "The only thing I worried about was how you would feel."

Ferdinand looked down and she knew he saw her hands quivering. It was too late to hide them. But he was kind and said only, "Well, I was only worried how you would feel, so I suppose that makes us well matched." He pulled out a chair and asked, "Do you mind if I sit with you? Or would you prefer some privacy?" He glanced briefly down at her journal, sitting conspicuously on the table. "I have a book for you, if you wanted something else to read. Seteth said you discussed St. Indech, and he wanted to send some information along."

"Perhaps after dinner," she said, but Ferdinand had already turned to retrieve the book he'd put down when he came in. "Or I suppose now would also be fine. What is that sticking out of it?"

"A letter," Ferdinand told her, and pulled the associated letter out of the book. It was sealed with shiny gold wax and stamped. "From Seteth, I assume. It was in there when he handed me the book." He handed her the letter. Bernie recognized the design of the stamp: it was the stamp of the Bishop of Cichol. So that was who Mr. Seteth was. That was who Bernie had poured her troubles out to and requested reading materials from. She wished she felt more faint than she did so she could pass out and have a few minutes to not think about that information.

"Mr. Seteth is the Bishop of Cichol?" Bernie confirmed. Her voice sounded strange to her. Or perhaps her ears weren't working right.

"Something like that," Ferdinand confirmed. "Are you well? Bernie?"

She had to sit down. She sat at her spot at the table and tried to smile pleasantly. "Sorry. I didn't realize who he was when he came by." She'd suspected, at first, but he had acted so approachable. She'd only seen bishops before, never spoken to them. In her mind, they belonged at big, flashy, public holidays, the types Father used to bring the whole family into the City for before the Insurrection. She had certainly never spoken to one in person, and had never thought she would. What sort of impression had she made, welcoming him into her apartment like he was a regular priest? Should she have been more insistent in offering him refreshments? Was there some additional ceremony for welcoming a bishop? Did the Bishop of Cichol really want to start some sort of penpal book club with Bernadetta von Aegir, who would be nothing more than the wife of a general for many years to come?

Bernadetta placed the letter in the middle of the table with a shaking hand. She wouldn't want Ferdinand to think she was concealing the letter's contents from him.

"You look quite distraught," Ferdinand told her, and sat down across from her. He didn't pick up the letter. "Did he say anything upsetting to you while he was here?"

"He offered the normal sort of life advice you would get from a regular priest," Bernie said. "I am just a bit overwhelmed now that I know who he is."

"He is one of my instructors at the Academy," Ferdinand insisted. "If his rank in the Church is intimidating to you, you can simply think of him as one of my teachers. If it would help, I can even start collecting slightly embarrassing stories about him; he is as human as anyone."

Bernie didn't want that. She just wanted to not think about him in the first place. She didn't want to think about how she'd invited a bishop in like he was a common person. She said, "That really isn't necessary," and picked up a piece of cheese and a slice of apple.

"Ah, how remiss of me; I barged in while you were in the middle of your dessert and bothered you about my own worries. I will not bother you if you were enjoying your reading," Ferdinand told her, and stood and went to the couch, where he sat and stretched his arms and shoulders.

She was in the middle of her dinner, really. Perhaps Ferdinand saw she had an apple and thought she had moved on to sweets? But she was looking forward to the last piece of lemon cake, which was waiting for her in the larder, just starting to go stale.

"I do appreciate you checking in on me," Bernie told him. "I just wish it did not pull you away from your classmates." Ferdinand was vibrant and boisterous, and he loved being around other vibrant people. He belonged with his classmates, who shared his determination and excitement, not with Bernie, who trembled over silly things like a visit from a religious official or not lighting enough candles.

She heard a match strike and looked over to see Ferdinand lighting the candles on the mantle. He looked over after lighting the first one, probably after seeing her move in the corner of his eye, and said, "Night will be coming on soon. Hah, some of my classmates can already light fires using only their inherited reasoning skills. Can you believe it?"

She would not have expected anybody to be accepted to the Officers' Academy without  _ some _ qualifying skills. But she said, "Oh, how fascinating. I have attempted faith healings before, but I could not mend more than small scratches." Or perhaps Ferdinand was hoping she would pick up firemaking? Was that what he was trying to imply?

"That is still more impressive than me, I am afraid. I have never had any talent for magic," Ferdinand told her, which she could not parse. But the candles were lit and burning cheerfully and symmetrically on the mantle, so maybe it was time to drop the subject entirely.

Perhaps he wanted her to stop? She could not help outshining him in the past, but surely he understood that a bit of hedge magic was nothing in comparison to his strategic, combat, and riding abilities. And wouldn't it be good for him, as a cavalryman, to have a wife who could help with his injuries? She had always been told a husband would value faith healings, that it was an entirely proper skill for a young lady to have.

"As for who I should or should not be spending time with, I must admit it was a relief to come home tonight. It is certainly exciting to get to know new people, but it has been tiring, as well. Would you like to hear stories of them? Perhaps it will be easier if you know more about them before you come to dinner with us again."

Okay, so apparently she had lied to Mr. Seteth, the Bishop of Cichol: quite the opposite of never coming to dinner again, it turned out she was expected to return. "Are you certain they want to see me again? After I was so rude to them?" Had he asked, or was he just assuming the best of people, as he so often did?

"Well, several of them sought me out individually to ask me to give you their well-wishes, so I should think so," Ferdinand told her. "Almost all of my classmates were worried about you today. And Lorenz, as well. Nobody seemed to think you had been rude."

"They were probably being polite," Bernie pointed out. "And, anyway, I would not want to get in the way of your academic life."

Ferdinand said nothing as she crunched on an apple slice. After that long pause, when Bernie thought she'd made it clear that dragging her around and looking after her moods would not encumber him while he worked toward his goals, he said, "I only have one life, Bernadetta, and you are part of it." She looked over and he looked really distressed. She wasn't used to seeing him so upset. "I know you mean that kindly," he continued. "I am sure you think that you are inhibiting me somehow, or you would not have said it that way. I would like to be extremely clear: you are my wife. What is mine is also yours. I will always be proud to have you by my side, and if I face judgement from others for that, it will not change how I feel about you. My classmates understand that we are one household because I have been unambiguous about it; they know you are my highest priority. They seek to welcome you because they seek to welcome me in all my complexity. I would feel honored if you would come to dinner again and make yourself part of all aspects of my life."

"I will gladly come," Bernadetta told him. She didn't want to think through everything he'd said; she just wanted him to know that she would support him in his social endeavors, and also she wanted him to stop looking so heartbroken. She didn't know how to reconcile the important role Ferdinand was saying she played in his life with the secondary role she'd always expected to play in her husband's life. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

Ferdinand was quiet after that. The couch occasionally creaked when he moved to change the stretch he was doing. The training exercises he did in his classes left him sore and Bernie didn't have good enough faith magic to do anything about it.

She finished her dinner and tried not to look at Ferdinand too obviously as she opened the letter from Mr. Seteth. He had never interfered with her letters before, but she'd only had letters from her sisters, which of course had been vetted by her parents. Mr. Seteth could have written anything to her, and Ferdinand might want to know.

Ferdinand didn't look up from where he was stretching his legs and torso on the floor, not even when the seal cracking was the loudest sound in the room.

_ Mrs. Aegir,  _ the letter read,

_ I was glad to talk to you today and clear up the unfortunate misunderstanding I had. I hope these stories of Saint Indech will help you understand why I believe nobody would think badly of you after last night. In my experience, people are full of forgiveness when a person is sincere. _

_ The stories I am sending you intentionally are  _ Hermit Under the Lake, A Cure for Drought,  _ and _ Two Brothers _. There are several other stories in this collection, and I recommend them all, as I have always enjoyed this author. However, those three in particular, and to a lesser extent  _ Queen of the Mud _ , show Saint Indech grappling with the painful shyness he was known for. I have a spare copy, so please keep this volume for as long as it is helpful to you. _

_ Yours in scholarship, _

_ Seteth _

Bernadetta reached for the book. It was bound in green fabric, with the title stamped on in silver foil:  _ The Lives and Times of Sothis' Saints _ . It was moderately worn, with the corners rounded down toward the pages and the pages lying in slightly different groups, like locks of hair. She opened to the table of contents and saw there were about fifteen stories, which meant most of them would be fairly short.

She opened to the second story,  _ Hermit Under the Lake _ , and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Come back next week for Bernie trying to conquer her agoraphobia.


	8. Ferdinand's Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall to early Spring of Ferdinand's year at the Academy. Some of Ferdinand's insecurities and less-than-ideal coping strategies come out. Also, Dedue shows up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really covers a lot of ground, and I hope you enjoy it! The last section, in particular, is really personal to me. It was a big step to be able to write down how it felt, and my final step in dealing with it is to put it out into the world. I want to give a huge shoutout to Seladorie for dealing with that phone call out of the blue when we lived two states away from each other.

Ferdinand packed slowly after his last class of the day. The other students were eager to chat with each other, or to go train or do their chores, but he didn’t want to let Professor Byleth out of his sight. He had already been outmaneuvered by Ashe yesterday when he asked a question before the class was quiet enough for Ferdie to feel comfortable doing the same.

Nobody seemed to have any big, pressing questions, so Ferdinand made his way to the front of the room when there were only a few lingering students. “Professor, do you have a few minutes?” he asked. “I know you do not have office hours on Thursdays, but I have a… somewhat urgent question.” Worst-case scenario, they would just schedule another time with him, right? (Worst-case scenario, they already thought he was an obnoxious brat who wouldn't leave them alone, but his father’s money paid their salary, so he could at least pretend at the confidence he didn’t feel.)

“I have some time,” the Professor said. “Can you help me carry these?”

“Of course!” He was Ferdinand von Aegir. Of course he was happy to help. He gathered the lances the Professor had brought for demonstration purposes, figuring they would be the heaviest and most awkward weapons to carry.

“Thanks for saving me the trip,” the Professor said, and Ferdinand took a moment to remind himself that they were always toneless so his heart didn’t interpret their lack of enthusiasm as a sign of resentment.

“No trouble at all,” Ferdinand assured them with a smile. “I was hoping we could talk in your office, anyway. I have a somewhat sensitive topic to ask about.”

“I can’t make Felix lay off about swords being the superior weapon,” the Professor said blankly, but Ferdinand could have sworn it felt like a joke.

So Ferdie laughed, and said, “That quarrel is between us alone, and it is all in good fun.” He nudged the door of the classroom open with his foot and held it for the Professor. “I have no trouble with a bit of friendly rivalry between two nobles. My question is not even about my more heated rivalry with Princess Edelgard, though I assure you I have been practicing diligently so that I may best her. My question is… much more personal in nature.”

“Something about your wife?” they asked over their shoulder as Ferdinand followed them through the hall.

“Yes. You seem very skilled at helping with interpersonal problems. Er-- not that my problem is with her! Naturally not! Just that there  _ is _ a problem, which I do not believe to be anyone's fault, and I would like to be more proactive about fixing it." He had almost sounded like he was speaking ill of his wife. And in public, no less! That would have been devastatingly ignoble of him!

"I understand," the Professor said over their shoulder. "A lot of problems are that way. I'll do what I can to help you figure it out."

"Thank you so much, Professor. I would have asked yesterday, but you were busy and, of course, I had no desire to interrupt another student." And he hadn't wanted to expose his troubles to anyone else's ears, and Ashe had a homework question, and--

"Here we are," the Professor said, interrupting Ferdinand's train of thought as they unlocked their office. "Thanks again for carrying those. They can go right there."

Ferdie took the lances to the corner the Professor had pointed to and carefully put them down. "No trouble at all, really," he insisted. He stood, too anxious to sit for this conversation, picking at the seams of his gloves.

"What's been going on?" Byleth asked in that casual, detached way they had.

Ferdie shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, and then back again. "Well, my wife -- Bernadetta; I do not believe you got the chance to meet her-- my wife is…" How to put this kindly? "--very shy, and of course I would never want to make her uncomfortable by pushing her until she feels overwhelmed. But, at the same time… She seems to be secluding herself, staying at home all week and only venturing out on weekends, in my company. She says she is happy with this arrangement, and of course I believe her, but I cannot help worrying about the future. Later in the semester, when the Academy is more demanding of my time, will she be friendless and afraid in an unknown city?" Ferdie pinched his fingers by the sides. He couldn't get the seams to feel symmetrical.

"That seems like a lot on your shoulders," the Professor remarked.

"Oh, I do not mind," Ferdie assured them. "I am quite energetic and capable. But I do not pretend I can be in two places at once, and I worry, for example, that if I go on one of the practical exam trips I have heard of, there will be nobody to take Mrs. Aegir to market. She especially hates crowded places, you see. She prefers to have someone familiar nearby."

"Then maybe she could try going alone on a week when she's feeling up to it?" they asked. "As practice."

"I suppose," Ferdie agreed. He wasn't sure how to suggest it to Bernadetta, but it sounded like a good plan. "It is certainly a better plan than I would have come up with. Um. As to her general seclusion, though… Do you know a way to convince someone to take callers? She has refused all requests. Even though she is not lonely, I would like her to make more friends and learn to be more confident in social situations. Is that selfish?" He couldn't tell if his goal of helping her make friends was just imposing his own worldview on her, or if it was important even though she did say she wasn't lonely.

"I think it's important for everyone to have friends," the Professor told him, and some of the tension in Ferdinand's chest eased.

"Thank you. I have been very uncertain. How to convince her to take callers, though…"

"What if you took callers while she was there?" they asked.

That was so obvious! "Yes!" Ferdinand exclaimed, beaming. "What an excellent plan! If I have guests or callers once or twice a week, I doubt that will tire her too much, and she can start getting to know people without the pressure of trying to make friends. You really are excellent at figuring out these sort of delicate situations, Professor!" More than a couple Eagles were annoyed with him, but even they had expressed a desire to meet Bernadetta. If he told them she was a bit shy and preferred to take callers as a household instead of alone, perhaps they would still come and visit her.

"Happy to help," the Professor told him. "About that thing with Edelgard, though…"

"Oh, you need not bother about that right now," Ferdinand assured them. "I am training hard, and I  _ will _ surpass her! But, for now, I would like to get a start on my chores so I can get home and discuss these ideas with my wife." He nodded to the Professor and said a quick farewell, and then jogged to the armory. He could usually get the armor repaired and cleaned before dinner, which would leave him plenty of time to talk to Bernadetta.

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand tried to start bringing people into their house a couple of weeks after Bernie made her horrible impression on his classmates.

“Is it alright if I have a friend or two over this weekend?” was how he phrased it.

“Of course,” Bernadetta said, because it was his apartment. He was her husband, who she was bound to obey, and his father’s money paid for it.

His face brightened up. Had he been nervous to ask what he could do in his own home? “Excellent! A few of my classmates have sent their calling cards here; are there any you were interested in meeting?”

_ Oh _ . “You want me to meet them, too?”  _ Just plaster the smile on your face, just remember he’s your husband forever, just act like you aren’t the huge disappointment you know you are-- _

“I was thinking it might take the pressure off if they came to see me,” Ferdinand told her. “I am very glad that you do not seem to get lonely, but would you not like to make friends? We are surrounded by people our age here.”

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Bernie told him, still smiling cheerfully. “You really don’t need to worry about me getting lonely. I’m at my best when I’m looking out for myself. Unless you’re hoping I’ll meet some people who could help your career?” That was probably it. “I know, as the Prime Minister’s wife, it’ll probably be important for me to help you connect with people. If… that is the project you want me to work on while you focus on school, then I--”

“I am not attempting to imply anything,” Ferdinand interrupted. “I hope you will try to make friends for your own benefit. It will be decades before I become Prime Minister; there is no preparation you need to make for it now. I… want to ensure that, if I am called away, you still have people you can turn to. I would like you to have friends you enjoy being around, of course, but my real urgency comes from worrying that, if I am tied up with an injury at the Monastery, I will not know who can take you to market or ensure you light enough candles in the evening.”

Bernie paused. She looked up at Ferdinand and his face was frozen and nervous, like he realized he’d just told her one of his secret resentments, but also knew he couldn’t take it back.

“I… I’m very sorry,” Bernie said. Maybe she could fix it right now. “What would be the right number of…?”

“I just worry that you treat me better than yourself,” Ferdinand blurted out. “I did not mean to-- of course, you know yourself best, but-- Do you actually prefer lower light, or do you think you are not even worth a second candle? I have difficulty telling with you.”

This was one of those unpredictable problems they kept coming up against. Ferdinand’s resentment had been building for weeks because he was too considerate to say what he wanted, and Bernadetta was failing as a wife. “I… had thought you would want a wife who was not frivolous with money,” she said. She hadn’t really thought he’d noticed; she made sure to light a second candle for his comfort by the time he came home. Did he really pay so much attention to their burning times? “I can light a second one, if it would put your mind at ease.”

“Would you enjoy it, though?” Ferdinand asked. “What is your preference?”

Her preference was for a husband who would tell her straightaway when she did something that bothered him. “I have no preference,” she said, because she just wanted to do whatever Ferdinand thought would be suitable. She wanted him to approve of the way she kept their home, and then maybe she would be able to delay any violence in their home for a few more months, or even years if she was really good at it.

“You can speak up if I do something you dislike,” Ferdinand said, which was confusing at best and an outright lie at worst. “If you prefer less light in the evening, I can adjust to using one candle. My worry is that you are putting my imagined preference above your own real one. They are only candles."

"I… suppose two would be nice," Bernie tried. Maybe, if she gave him a number, he would hint at whether it was the right one.

It worked; he smiled. "The shadows are less severe with more candles," he pointed out. "In summer, we might even get positively  _ indulgent _ and light a third." He winked at her. What on Earth did a wink mean?

Further, what did summer mean? The start of the season? The Spring equinox? When they decided to change their sheets back from flannel to smooth? When they stopped lighting a fire in the evenings? Probably the fire one. She decided to respond to the wink by lowering her gaze and smiling a little, since acting bashful usually worked with Ferdinand.

"Um… Callers, though!" Ferdinand said, changing the subject artlessly. He came to sit next to Bernie on the couch. "It has been some time since you saw Lorenz. We all got along famously, did we not? Or Dorothea, who you met at the opera; she liked you very well. Lady Edelgard has been inquiring, too."

"The Princess?" Bernadetta confirmed. Her heart leapt into a gallop. "Why would she want to meet me?" They'd met when Bernie came to dinner at the Monastery, but surely she'd gotten Bernadetta's measure from that meeting.

"You said it yourself, earlier: you will be the wife of her Prime Minister someday. Even if you were not, your father is Minister of Religion. Why should she  _ not _ show an interest in you, even if we are cynically assuming she is thinking politically instead of wanting to make a friend?"

Ferdinand was much too hard to argue with. He just made too much sense! Bernie had never been sensible; she just wanted to stay withdrawn from the world and not give anybody the opportunity to hurt her. She knew that 'I don't want to' was hardly a basis for argument, especially when Ferdinand was trying so hard to help her, but unfortunately it was the best argument she had.

"I just… Don't want too many people in our apartment," she admitted. She swallowed, nervous. It was much too big a demand to make. "I like that it's private. If anybody but you came here, it would feel like they were invading my peaceful space." Venturing out to the market required her to put on her emotional armor just to deal with the noise and the people. She didn't want intruders in her quiet space. "You can take as many callers as you like, but I will be in our room."

Ferdinand was looking at her with soft eyes she hadn't earned. She was making unreasonable demands of her husband, needlessly causing trouble. She was shaking just thinking of the reaction that outburst would have received at home, even as she berated herself for thinking of Varley Manor as "home."

"Your worries make things hard for you, huh?" Ferdinand asked in a soft, low voice, like he was talking to a frightened animal. Bernie nodded. He knew that; he escorted her on all her errands! "I would not try to make you feel unwelcome in your own house. I will try to meet my friends at school instead."

"You should take callers here," Bernie protested. "I will be fine. I should get used to it."

Ferdinand sighed and said, "I will believe you when you can say it while looking at me."

She looked up at him and he glanced at her and smiled. "Maybe one day, the world will feel a little less dangerous and you can start to allow it to come to you," he told her. "You should not have to  _ withstand _ the things that happen here." His hand reached out for hers, clumsy and grasping. A quick glance told her it was because he wasn't looking at her. His head was turned away, toward the window. She held his hand. "I look forward to meeting the Bernadetta von Aegir who rules over her fear instead of being ruled by it. Even if it takes a very long time, I have every confidence you will reach that point."

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand didn't mind clearing the way for Bernadetta to come to dinner again. He didn't mind patiently convincing his wife to come to dinner again as he fielded Dorothea's complaints that Bernie hadn't been at choir, Edelgard's accusations that Bernadetta "just needs to get out more," or Caspar's questions about when (not if) she would be returning. He ignored Hubert's attempts to cast Bernadetta's attributes in a completely negative light because, after all, if Bernadetta's own husband didn't publicly and loudly support her, who would? His only difficulty was that Bernadetta truly was reluctant to come to dinner, though even that was not her fault. She would agree to come, but then spend the whole day worrying and feel ill by the time dinner came around. She tried to come to breakfast once, but her worry kept her up all night and they did not attempt it again. Since Ferdinand could not be two places at once, both studying and reassuring his wife, bringing Bernadetta to dinner proved surprisingly difficult.

His academic life was going well, though. He had agreed to work hard when he decided to attend the Officers' Academy. But it felt like, as the semester went on, not only his classes, but his chores got harder, too. He would polish armor for the normal allotment of time (many people found it tiresome and he didn't mind, so it was his usual chore) and still have to return after dinner to finish. Perhaps, as the year wore on, his classmates were also getting stronger, and leaving deeper scratches. He would have to ask someone if that was normal, if maybe they would need a second person assigned to the task in the Spring. Perhaps his classmates had foreseen that and that was why he was the only one who would deal with that task.

.-._.-._.-._

As the semester wore on, Ferdinand started to seem more and more stressed. He smiled less, and while he didn't get angry, he did seem less cheerful. He slept badly, and sometimes asked Bernie to sing him to sleep. She always complied by humming gently until she drifted off, but she wondered how late he stayed up. He started getting bruises from training that he hadn't gotten when he was more alert.

And he started staying out later.

Bernie didn't want to feel suspicious of her husband. She didn't want to think about what Miss Arnault had done to get to the Academy, or Lady Edelgard's stubborn personality that matched Ferdinand's, or Lady Petra's petite charm and outgoing demeanor. But it was hard to think of anything else when Ferdinand would be out until eight, nine, sometimes ten at night as Bernie wasted candles on herself and wondered who it was who had caused Ferdinand to betray her and tell her only that he was "polishing armor" and that it was difficult to get the same shine on it that he used to.

One night, she couldn't stand it anymore. Ferdinand just plain didn't come home. Bernie was up late waiting for him, unable to sleep from worry, and when the night bell tolled midnight, she got up, put on her cloak, lit a lantern, and tied her boots tight up her ankles. She walked right up the main street -- nobody was out, anyway -- and straight to the monastery. She asked the guard where she could find the armory.

"Um. Sorry to ask, but that… doesn't seem quite like information that should be given out. Can I ask who you are?"

"She's married to one of the students," the other guard said. She vaguely recognized him from the time she’d come to dinner. "That redheaded fellow. The nice one. Aegir, right?"

"Yes, I am Bernadetta von Aegir," she confirmed. "I'm looking for my husband. He hasn't come home and I've been very worried." And furious, but she was trying to hold her fury back in case Ferdinand really was polishing and repairing armor.

Her heart thumped fast in her chest, talking to strangers like this, but she needed to know. She needed to know if Ferdinand was unfaithful, and there was only one way to find out.

"Go down through the courtyard this way," the guard who'd recognized her said. "When you get to the portico, there'll be another guard who's at more liberty to move around than we are. Her name is Fiona, and tell her Albert sent you."

"Thank you so much," Bernie said, trying to keep her voice loud enough to sound normal. She wasn't used to talking to strangers without Ferdinand by her side, but even walking to the Saturday market with her seemed like a chore to him these days instead of a fun adventure, like it was before.

She talked to the guard on the east side of the courtyard, who showed her to the armory and then stuck around in front of the door.

The door was unlocked. She opened it and there was firelight inside. She called, "Ferdinand?" She hoped he was just asleep at his work. It would be embarrassing, but not incriminating.

"Wha-- Bernadetta?" As she entered the room, she saw there was a table with a lamp on it near the front, and Ferdinand was sitting there. And he was alone.

He looked about ready to pass out, even though firelight usually softened people's features.

"Ferdie! What happened? Are you alright?" She put her lantern down on the table and noticed the blank expression on his face.

"I-- need to buff the scratches out," he told her, and held up a pauldron.

Bernie looked at the piece. "What scratches?" she asked. "Ferdinand, it is gleaming."

"It isn't right," Ferdinand told her, and rubbed the metal with an object she could only assume was for buffing. "It isn't done. I can't just leave my work unfinished. Everybody has to do their work."

"It's past midnight," Bernie told him, as if the midnight toll didn't come from the Goddess Tower of the same monastery they were in. "Ferdinand, there are no scratches; it's good enough. You are overtired and not thinking straight. Come home with me. Come to bed."

"I can't just leave things 'good enough,'" Ferdinand said. He wouldn't look at her. The pauldron got no shinier as he rubbed at it. "There is no 'good enough.' It is either correct or incorrect. It is not in my nature to leave a job half done."

"Then how can I help you?" Bernie asked him. "How can we get this done so you can come home?"

"The scratches will not buff out," Ferdinand told her, still rubbing at the gleaming piece of armor. "I cannot-- if bandits attack again, or something else goes amiss, I cannot let our people ride out with armor that will dent and break. I refuse to endanger my peers that way."

He wasn't listening to reason. Perhaps he was too tired. So she put her hand over his, which finally made him pause. Now that he wasn't moving, she could see he was shaking. "You will make yourself sick," she told him, though she was very afraid that he already was sick and she had failed to notice. "Discuss it with your professors in the morning. Perhaps they can put more people on this task, if it is so time-consuming. You need to sleep, Ferdinand."

"I have fallen asleep later than this," Ferdinand told her, and swayed where he sat.

"Yes, but you were resting in bed when you did it," Bernie reminded him. "Come home with me, Ferdinand. We will lie down together and sleep. You are in no condition to stay up."

"I just need to finish this set of plate mail," Ferdinand said. "Just this set, and then I will be done. And I can go with you."

"If it is only one set, then leave it," Bernie insisted. "It is one out of so many. Mr. Seteth said your chores shouldn't take more than two hours, so how have you stayed up past midnight?" Was he really sitting up late into the night to buff out invisible scratches, chase away nonexistent imperfections? How had his worry seized him so completely before Bernadetta did anything about it? How had she suspected him of straying from her when he had only been chasing an unattainable level of perfection in his work?

Ferdinand gently pulled out of her grip and put the armor and buffing pad on the table in front of him. "I never meant to make my struggles yours," he told her. "You have my deepest apologies for worrying you. But I am afraid I cannot apologize for trying to do my chore correctly. I will not leave until it is done."

Bernie had never seen him like that. Ferdinand was stubborn, certainly, but he was also reasonable. She thought he knew his limits. But now, he sounded so toneless, lifeless, it was as if his exhaustion had overwhelmed his personality and left a shell in its place. "If you do not come with me, I will fetch Lady Edelgard," Bernie threatened. "I am very scared for you, Ferdinand. You are not yourself."

"I am well, my love," Ferdinand told her. "But I worry that… nothing will be smooth again? That nothing will ever be perfect, and we can only create a weak facsimile of perfection, and it will never be enough."

"You are speaking nonsense," Bernie told him. "You have not slept well in weeks; you are exhausted." He was never going to come with her under his own power, but maybe he wouldn't protest too hard if she pulled him along. "Up you come. We’re going home," she said, and stood next to him and looped his arm around her shoulders. When she straightened, he stood with her with minimal fuss.

"I was not done," Ferdinand protested weakly. It almost sounded like sleep-talking, he was so tired. "I need to finish."

Bernadetta turned off the lamp on the table and grabbed her lantern, and then told Ferdinand, "If your teachers ask, you had an emergency at home that had to be seen to. Now, I am taking you to bed.”

She led Ferdinand out of the armory by his arm. Fiona the guard was still there. She looked Ferdinand up and down and asked Bernie, "Need some help?"

"I think I have it handled," Bernie reassured the guard. "Thank you very much for offering. Time just got away from him a bit.”

She walked Ferdinand home, making their excuses to the monastery guards. He was half-asleep the whole walk home, barely even seeming to notice the way he shivered in the chill. They didn’t speak to each other.

At last, they got home. Bernie half-pulled her husband up the stairs and led him inside. He dozed as she untied his boots and unbuttoned his jacket, and fell asleep to her humming as she sat over him on the bed, raking gentle fingers through his hair, clumpy and stiff with dried sweat. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she woke up in the morning with an aching back.

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand had missed breakfast, but he did that sometimes (and the Eagles had mostly stopped making morning sex jokes about it, thank Sothis). But he didn't show up during morning prayer, which he always did.

They all walked together to class, except for Linhardt, who mysteriously disappeared. Edelgard sent Caspar to get him before they'd even reached the training grounds. But she didn't know where Ferdinand was, and it would be a lot trickier to find him.

He jogged up to them between prayer and class, not looking disheveled per se, but seeming  _ off  _ in some way, with a weak excuse about sleeping in. It wasn't any of her business, but it kind of was her business as his house leader. And she couldn't help worrying when he'd been looking so tired recently.

Linhardt and Caspar returned just then, though, so she turned her attention to chewing out their healer instead.

.-._.-._.-._

"Oh, by the way, Bernie," Ferdinand said one chilly morning in late November. "I had been meaning to ask: how is Varley in the winter? Is it like here?"

"Pretty similar," she told him. "Why do you ask?" He didn't have as much winter clothing as her, but they wouldn't be in Garreg Mach for more than two winters, anyway. And his winter uniform was extra thick, and he said all the exercise was keeping his knee from feeling too sore, despite the weather…

"I just want to be sure to pack properly for St. Cichol Day Break," Ferdinand told her, because he was innocent and optimistic and  _ stupid. _

Bernadetta's family had never been warm. No, that wasn't the right way to put it. Bernadetta's family had never been  _ forgiving. _ They held grudges. Bernadetta had received exactly one letter from her mother, back in mid-Autumn, informing her that her great-aunt Vyrna was gravely ill. It had been terse, to the point, and had told Bernie everything she needed to know about her relationship with her family: Mother was still angry with her for Ferdinand's display when they were newly married, and she would only get the bare minimum of familial duties from her parents until he and Bernie apologized properly.

A very friendly letter had arrived a scant week ago, bearing both her and Ferdinand's names, greeting them warmly and inviting them in a casual, friendly tone to spend St. Cichol Day in Aegir. Bernie supposed Ferdinand's father hadn't held onto his position so long by being rude. Presumably, her own father was able to act likable when he wanted to; but Bernadetta was the last person he would be kind to. Bernadetta had already drafted a response to her father-in-law, to send in early December under the pretense she had been waiting for a letter from her own parents.

"Then I think you will have to be the one to tell me what to pack," Bernie told him. "We have had a very sweet letter from your father. He would like you home for the holiday -- after all, you are his only child."

"Well. Not his  _ only _ child," Ferdinand said, as if it was some sort of joke.

Bernie frowned. Had she overstepped on something she hadn't even heard about? Perhaps Ferdinand had had a younger sibling who died? "I'm very sorry," she told him somberly, and looked down.

"For what?" Ferdinand asked. "The thought of people knowing bothers my father to no end, but you are my wife, so it seems only right that you should meet my half-siblings, now that I think about it."

...Oh.

"Half-siblings?" Bernadetta prodded, wanting to be certain Ferdinand was saying what she thought he was saying.

He nodded. "Especially in the duchy, if you see any servants with red hair, we are most likely related. My father sowed quite a few wild oats before he married."

"Ah… But they will never be…" How to put this?

"...Recognized as his heirs, no," Ferdinand confirmed. "It would be difficult to deny they are his children, though, because the entire reason he keeps them close is their crests."

It was a conundrum that Bernadetta had never thought to plan for. It was one thing for a man to have natural children who were presumed to be his; the ability to absolutely confirm Ferdinand's step-siblings' lineages made Bernie uncertain how she should treat them when she met them. "So, there are people who are crested and older than you," she said, trying to back up a little and slow down so she could figure out if they were to be treated as regular servants or as something a little higher in rank.

"My father takes care of them," Ferdinand said. "I cannot tell if it is duty or embarrassment, but he did take his natural children into his household and he pays them well. They are like cousins to me."

Ferdinand had a very giving heart; Bernie would bet anything his father loathed having the living reminders of his indiscretions hanging around his house for anyone to see, so he had probably struck a deal with most, if not all, of them. For what, Bernie couldn't guess. She just said, "I will look forward to meeting them, then."

"I do understand if you miss your family, though," Ferdinand told her. "I would be perfectly happy to spend the break in Varley. And the journey is certainly shorter."

"I don't mind," Bernie said. It seemed easier to pretend there had been an invitation from her family. "I would like to see Aegir. I know you missed going to the the harvest fair this Fall."

They discussed the details -- what the weather was like, what was different from Enbarr, how they should travel -- and Bernie showed Ferdinand the return letter she'd prepared. He never asked if there was a letter from Varley.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie worried both less and more about Ferdinand as the school year wore on. She stopped worrying he was having an affair, but every time he failed a test or a battle hit him especially hard, and for a full week after the Black Eagles lost a mock battle with the other houses, she would go to the Monastery in the small hours of the morning and bring him home as he insisted he wasn't finished, or later (once he started to see a small bit of sense), thanked her for coming and stopping him. The second half of the year wore hard on Ferdinand, and she wasn't about to embarrass him by airing their troubles to anyone, but she couldn't help worrying. She didn't know where to seek help; she refused to grovel to her family, so she couldn't ask her mother. Mr. Seteth was very kind, but they discussed the Saints together, not her relationship troubles, and she wanted to keep it that way. She'd been able to avoid dining with the Black Eagles more than once every couple of months, but that meant she shared no friends with Ferdinand.

She was a failure of a wife. Her home with Ferdinand was peaceful only because it was empty. He avoided her to avoid imposing, and it pulled them apart.

She was always reluctant to take action, always timid, but she had to act. She had to do something to help, or they would never have a real marriage.

So one weekend, when the Black Eagles were going camping together, she screwed up her courage, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the Spring breeze, and walked right up the main road of Garreg Mach Township and into the Monastery, in the middle of the day, in broad daylight.

The daytime guards didn't know her, but it couldn't be so different from when the nighttime guards had told her where the armory was, could it? They didn't stop her or demand to know her business, but she walked up to one of them -- it was much harder than it had been at night, so much more exposed -- and asked, "Excuse me, do you know where I can find Professor Byleth of the Officers' Academy?" Were there other schools here? Could a person train in scribing or learn to be a priest? It seemed like the sort of thing she should know.

"Uhhh, I think, this time on a Sunday, they're usually by the pond?" the guard guessed. (Right. They. She had to remember that.) "Just go--"

"I think they're in the infirmary today," the other guard interrupted. "We had that shipment of vulnerary ingredients, remember? And not as many students to help brew them."

"Ah, right!" the first guard agreed, and gave Bernie directions to the infirmary.

She only had to beg directions from one person on the way, and he was wearing the Officers' Academy uniform even though it was technically a day off. Then she knocked quietly on the door labeled "INFIRMARY" and let herself in.

Two people were working at a table in the middle of the room, cutting and grinding some kind of leaves. They both looked up at Bernadetta and warning sirens went off in her head. When was the last time she'd felt so horrifyingly  _ seen? _ But she raised her voice enough to ask, "Is one of you… Um… P-Professor Byleth?" She didn't know how to identify a person with no gender, she realized as she looked at the two people before her. Was that bad? She wasn't sure she'd ever had the occasion to meet one. Was she being rude by assuming they could be either one? Oh, she was  _ definitely _ making some horrible faux pas, shouldn't have even come to the Monastery--

"That's me," one of the people -- presumably, Professor Byleth -- said. They squinted at her. "Are you… from one of the other houses…?"

Bernie dipped in a small curtsey. "I am Bernadetta von Aegir," she said, and the familiarity of the words made them sound more confident. "Wife of Ferdinand von Aegir. I was wondering if we could discuss something privately. I can help with the herbs after, if you need some help."

"Oh, no, we've got two of 'em now," the other person joked. Were they ungendered, too? Or just a regular woman? Regardless, Bernie wanted to shrink down until she was invisible.

"My office is right down the way," Professor Byleth said, and Bernadetta happily followed them out of the room and down the corridor. "I had heard you didn't like going into town," they said while they were still walking.

"I don't," Bernie confirmed. "I probably should have come here before, but I didn't have the courage. There are just… so many people, and they all seem to look at me as I pass, and… Anyway, I do prefer to stay in my room, all day sometimes, but this was important." Her heart thundered in her ears. Was she revealing too much? Would the Professor be uncomfortable with her oversharing? They didn't even know each other; who was she to make demands on Professor Byleth's time?

She was so lost in thought, she didn't realize she was in the Professor's office until they shut the door and said, "What's going on?"

"I, um. I… I was wondering if… Ferdie just stays up so-- no, that isn't it… I was just wondering if… Maybe, if it wouldn't be too much trouble… If you could put Ferdinand on a chore with a partner? I… His pride would never allow him to complain, but when he's alone in the armory, he… I think he loses track of how well the training armor needs to be polished, and it takes him a long time. He can't allow himself to do anything but a perfect job, and it keeps him up, scrubbing and polishing armor until all hours." It was difficult to admit, knowing that Ferdinand would probably feel betrayed if he knew what she was doing, but she just had to believe that it would be a greater betrayal to allow him to suffer and do nothing.

"Okay. What do you suggest?" the Professor asked.

Bernie could have gotten whiplash from how quickly they agreed. She'd expected to have to argue her point more completely, and jumped back in to do just that. "He's very dedicated and hard-working, I promise; he just-- wait, did you say yes?"

They nodded. "Yeah. I can shift things around a little. Which chores do you think would suit him?"

Bernie looked down. "Well, I don't know much about how a monastery is run. Or a school, for that matter. I do know he is no enemy of hard work. In fact, even with his classes and training, I think he enjoys having something so physical. Maybe something like laundry or mucking stables? I don't really know which chores need to get done." She would recommend cleaning, but Ferdinand's knee gave him trouble sometimes, so scrubbing floors would be no good for him. "But I do think it would do him a world of good not to be the only person on a task."

"Consider it done," the Professor said. "Tell him to ask me himself next time, though."

"Oh, he doesn't know I'm here," Bernie told them. She ducked her head. "Like I said, Ferdinand is very proud. He would never complain. I am the one complaining, that my husband comes home exhausted at all hours because he can't stop himself from doing a better-than-perfect job."

"I see," the Professor remarked.

"I just want him home," Bernie confirmed, looking up again. "At the normal time, after finishing a normal amount of work. That is all."

“Mmmm,” the Professor hummed noncommittally. “Bernadetta, quick question for you: do you ever feel like Ferdinand… wants you not to go out so much?”

It was a very strange question, and very casually asked. “Why would he want that?” she asked. “I would assume he wishes I could go out on my own more often. He would never complain, you understand; he is much too kind for that. But I do wonder, sometimes, if he wishes I could go to market without him. He even suggested it, a couple months ago, but I haven’t been able to. Not even the weekday markets. There are just too many people there, and it makes me nervous. Just to come here today, it was very stressful walking through town.”

Professor Byleth nodded. "Then, does he ensure you take callers at home?"

It was a strange and intrusive question. "He does his best," she assured them, not mentioning his commitment to meeting most of his friends at school. "There are not many people I want to take as callers. And his evenings have been busy. He does let me stay in the bedroom when callers come by, though, if I feel too tired to take them. He does not pressure me, if that is what you are asking." Were they trying to ask something like what Bishop Seteth had asked at the beginning of the year?

The Professor nodded, seemingly satisfied. "If it works for you, it's fine," they conceded. "Coming home so late doesn't put him in a bad temper, does it?"

Bernie shook her head. "He's just tired," she confirmed. "I appreciate you asking, but unless I am very mistaken, the Ferdinand you know here is the Ferdinand I know at home. When he gets tired, he is only tired, not angry." She knew men who got angry when they were tired; her own father was one of them. Ferdinand barely even raised his voice to her, and the most he ever asked was that she be quiet for a few minutes while he wound down from a long, stressful day.

"Ooh, I can put him on stable duty with Hubert," the Professor muttered to themself as they leaned over their desk. They marked the page they'd pulled out and looked up at Bernadetta. "You offered to help Manuela and me, right?" they asked, and guided her out of the room.

"Oh, with whatever herbalry you were doing? Yes, no problem," Bernie said. She walked back to the infirmary with the Professor, not sure if she should talk or not, but the Professor seemed content to stay silent. When they got back to the infirmary, the Professor said, "Pull up a chair," and they were so toneless Bernie didn't even understand the instruction for a moment.

They were cutting the skin off some succulent leaves for Manuela to grind them before cooking, to make a burn salve. Bernadetta was plenty handy with a knife, and she was glad to help expedite the work. While they were handling plants, she tried to make polite conversation to mask how uncomfortable she was.

"Has Ferdinand ever told you about my interest in carnivorous plants?" she asked, certain as soon as she said it that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Ooh, he hasn't," Manuela, who Bernie was assuming was the school's doctor, responded. "Do you keep some at home?"

"Oh, we don't have a greenhouse," Bernie pointed out. "And I'm worried it would be too cool and dry here for them. But I kept some when I lived in Varley. Some flytraps and pitcher plants."

"Very nice," Manuela told her approvingly. "Ferdinand doesn't go to the greenhouse much, that I know of; has he told you about our corpse flower?"

Bernadetta's hands paused. Her whole body went rigid with anticipation. "You have a corpse flower?" she asked. "It isn't blooming, is it?" How often did they bloom? Was it every ten years? It certainly wasn't often. Would it bloom while she and Ferdinand were in Garreg Mach?

Manuela nodded and said, "It is. Stinks up the whole greenhouse, but you have to admire it. You know, there's no lock on the greenhouse…"

Bernadetta's heart was pounding in her chest. "Would you let me go to the greenhouse after this?" she asked, the words rushing out of her as if of their own volition.

"I'd let you visit the greenhouse whenever you want," Manuela said with a very casual shrug. "No harm in walking around a bit. Here, let me take some of that…" She took the roughly chopped pieces from Bernadetta's cutting board and put them in her mortar. "By the way, your husband's knee… You know how to help with it, right?"

Bernadetta shook her head. "I have a little faith magic, but not much. And not well trained," she admitted. "He says it will get better in the Spring; I know it didn't give him much trouble in the Summer."

"Come by for some lessons sometime," Manuela offered. "I'm free all day, if you want to come back here after seeing the greenhouse."

"Oh, I couldn't impose," Bernie said. Surely, the teacher had only offered because she felt obligated.

"You wouldn't be any trouble. I just don't like the idea of him going without help all weekend." She frowned at Bernie, appraising. "Probably easier to teach than the ones who come in insisting their families pass the gift down," she remarked.

There was no way for Bernadetta to refuse politely, so she accepted. They chatted idly until the task was done, and then Bernadetta fled to the greenhouse.

She'd seen it before, but never gone in. It was fairly large, and when she went inside, she could see all the vegetables that took up the bulk of its space. But, as she ventured further in, past the herbs, to the foreign and experimental and decorative plants, she was delighted to see not only a corpse flower, but a whole host of carnivorous plants. The stench was terrible, but the proud, frilly purple petal and the stamen as big as Bernie's leg were truly a sight to behold. She even leaned over as far as she could to see if there were any bugs inside, since she couldn't remember if it was carnivorous or not.

"Amazing, isn't it?" a deep voice asked behind her, and she startled so badly she could have fallen in. She shrieked in surprise and almost stepped on some flytraps underfoot as she tried to regain her balance.

"I'm-- so sorry; I didn't mean to startle you," the stranger told her as she caught her breath after the shock. He was tall and broad, with dark skin and fair hair, and he wore the same uniform as Ferdinand. He looked nearly as startled as Bernadetta.

"I'm so sorry," Bernie said automatically. "I didn't mean to intrude! Professor Manuela said I could be here, I promise! Oh, but of course, if you need to use the greenhouse for your education, I won't get in the way; I just--"

"Calm down, please," the stranger said. "I didn't mean to upset you." He smiled a little and said, "It's the weekend, so I came to look at the flowers."

"Oh…" Bernie was sure she was in the wrong place, and probably the wrong time, too, but maybe she could just leave and it wouldn't be a problem. "I should get going, then; I'm not even a student, but I came to-- oh! I'm not trespassing, though, I promise! I came to see Professor Byleth about my husband, who  _ is _ a student, and then Professor Manuela told me I could go to the greenhouse any time, since corpse flowers are so rare. But I definitely didn't mean to get in the way of anyone's education--"

"You came for the corpse flower?" the stranger asked, smiling at her. "You might be the first person I've met who appreciates it."

"I have… unusual taste in plants," Bernadetta told him, which felt strangely personal to admit, standing in front of a group of them as they were. "I had flytraps and pitcher plants at home, before I was married, but I had to leave them behind, so I miss them a lot." And her parents hadn't invited them to Varley for the Winter holiday, so she hadn't been able to check whether anyone was keeping them alive. "Do you like carnivorous plants, too?"

"I'm more of a generalist," the stranger admitted. "I like all the flowers. I do like how silly the flytraps look, but did you notice their little white flowers?" He knelt and took a flowerhead between his fingers so Bernadetta could see it more clearly. Between his thick, blunt fingers, they looked especially small and dainty.

"I never really liked most flowers," Bernie admitted. "At home, I… There were only a few flowers I liked, and my parents would scold me and tell me to stop putting such ugly flowers in my hair." She paused, realized she was oversharing, and said, "O-oh! Not that I dislike these flowers! They're just the kind that I like, and I'm happy for the flytraps to be able to put out flowers in the first place. I only meant, if you show me some flowers and I'm not very appreciative, it isn't your fault." The stranger was standing in front of her again. He must have been mad; she'd insulted his hobby. "I'm sorry. I'm always awkward like this. Let's… start over. Hi. My name is Bernadetta von Aegir." She dipped in a small curtsy.

The stranger blinked in recognition. "Oh, Ferdinand's wife," he said. Then he smiled warmly and bowed slightly and said, "Dedue Molinari. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Molinari," Bernadetta repeated. She couldn't place the name. "That's from…?"

"Duscur," Dedue told her.

She jumped. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she told him. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth. Maybe I should just stop talking-- shut  _ up, _ Bernie--"

"I've been from Duscur my whole life," he pointed out. "Where are you from? I don't follow Adrestian current events that closely."

"Oh, um… Varley," she told him. It was a very considerate question. When was the last time someone had considered her childhood in Varley important? She had been the scion of a county once, and now it was like she only existed in relation to her husband. "Just south of here." It would only be right to ask a remotely considerate question, too, right? "What are your favorite flowers?"

"I've been tending some violets over here," Mr. Molinari told her, and walked past her to pick up a small flowerpot. He showed her a small, round plant bursting with round, velvety leaves and sporting small, dark purple flowers coming up from the center. "Very finnicky, but I really like them."

Bernadetta reached out without thinking and stroked one of the leaves. "It's very soft," she said, which she hoped was a compliment.

It must have been, because Mr. Molinari smiled warmly at her and asked if she'd seen the pitcher plant bush yet.

.-._.-._.-._

"So, have you tried any magic?" Professor Casagranda asked when Bernadetta unavoidably visited her. "Real magic, I mean. Spells with runes."

Bernie shook her head. "Just a little faith trick here and there, when my sisters scraped their knees," she said. "A little soothing when Ferdinand has a headache, things like that. Nothing that takes talent."

"Oh, that takes plenty of talent," the monastery's lead healer insisted. "Don't sell yourself short, kid. But I do have some runes you'll find useful." She opened a tome to the bookmarked page and said, "If you ever need it, this will heal more than a little scrape. Or it can do the same as your more powerful attempts, but with a lot less effort. Here, let's talk about which parts of this rune are important."

Professor Manuela sat down with her and carefully described the purpose of each element of the rune: how numbers and shapes worked in faith magic, what the foreign script meant, and how the rune both channeled the magic into something more powerful and kept the caster from overextending themself. There were parts of the rune that were needed to "open" the spell -- to get the magic flowing in a useful way -- and parts to "close" the spell -- shut down the process safely and in good time.

At last, she asked Bernie to cast Heal on her. Bernie was nervous, but didn't want to say so. After all, hadn't Professor Casagranda just spent all that time teaching her? Bernie extended her arm, the way casters did in shows and books, and two rings of light appeared around her wrist.

"Not bad, for a first try," Professor Casagranda said, but she was smiling like she was trying not to laugh.

"It's alright," Bernie said. "I'm sorry to waste your time. I always was bad at everything important. Please don't hate me for taking up so much of your time and energy; I really thought I'd be able to--"

"Whoa. Whoa. Kid. Sit down." Bernie sat back down, silent and anxious. She should have been out the door already. She should have apologized more efficiently. "Does Ferdinand talk to you like that?"

"Oh. Never." It was her own bad quality. "In fact, he helps me stop sometimes. Oh, that spell was  _ so _ bad, though; I'll just--"

"Sit. Down." Bernie sat as if an invisible hand was pushing down on her shoulder. "The spell was fine.  _ You're _ doing fine. It was a very middle-of-the-road first attempt. Just what I'd expect from a new caster. But do you always talk about yourself that way?"

"Well, I don't think about it," Bernie pointed out. "I guess I do." It wasn't new or anything.

Professor Casagranda sighed. "Alright. I'm gonna teach you much more powerful magic than some healing spells. I'm gonna challenge you to stop yourself when you feel like apologizing all those times and talking like that. Just cut yourself off. And, every day, find something nice to say about yourself and something nice to do for yourself, whether that's taking some reading time or having a nice drink or whatever it is you like. And see how that feels after three days, so you know if you should keep doing it, and if you stick with it, see how you feel in a month."

"Yes, ma'am," Bernie said politely.

"Good. So, when you don't get a real rune…"

Professor Casagranda adjusted the way Bernie was standing and told her how to imagine the magic moving through her. At last, she asked Bernadetta to cast the spell again.

It went much better this time. The rune manifested, and Bernie could swear she saw all the parts she and Professor Casagranda had talked about. She understood how it was supposed to feel, or very nearly did. The professor smiled and congratulated her, and asked her to come back in a week.

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand was, predictably, worse for wear after the trip. The Black Eagles' healer, Mr. Hevring, who Ferdinand was on a first-name basis with, had done what he could, but days of climbing all over the mountains and sleeping on the cold ground had taken their toll.

"Can you at least beg off your more physical classes?" Bernie asked as Ferdinand massaged his leg after dinner. "I'm sure you aren't expected to hurt yourself. Maybe there are exercises that focus on just your upper body…"

"You are very sweet to worry," Ferdinand told her, and turned to kiss her cheek. "I am no martyr; if it becomes too much of a problem, I will say so. I have five years of managing this already. And it has a good chance of improving overnight."

Bernadetta didn't want to push her luck. Ferdinand had already given her a commitment to speak up if his knee kept him from training. And he would have a greater well of energy to draw from soon, since he was to muck stables with Mr. Vestra instead of polishing armor alone.

"I went to the monastery yesterday," she said in a way she hoped sounded casual. "Professor Casagranda showed me how to do a healing spell and let me see the corpse flower in the greenhouse."

"Oh, was it nice?" Ferdinand asked. "I have not been to the greenhouse for some time; there is a bad smell in there."

"The corpse flower," Bernie agreed. "It attracts flies by smelling like rotting meat. It looked very healthy."

"I will take your word for it," Ferdinand told her. He grimaced and leaned into his palm. "This only looks bad," he said when he noticed Bernie watching. "I will take a hot bath and feel much better."

"But, as I was saying," Bernie repeated, "I talked with Professor Casagranda, too, and she said the spell she showed me would help to soothe your knee."

Ferdinand smiled at her. He couldn't stop his face from looking a bit pained. "Linhardt said it has had as much healing as it should take in a day. I will look forward to receiving a healing from you, though; I can only imagine how good it will feel to be healed by someone I love."

Bernadetta blushed and looked down at her embroidery. She had lived with Ferdinand for over half a year, but sometimes she could still barely believe she was the object of anyone's affections.

"Oh, is that new?" Ferdinand asked, which was faster than anyone in her family had ever noticed new embroidery; he had only been home a couple hours, and spent most of that time unpacking and having dinner. "What are you planning to make?"

Bernie's voice came out smaller than she would have liked as she said, "Some gloves. In that mustard-and-purple combination I like so much."

"How delightful," Ferdinand said. Bernadetta was always waiting for him to think her frivolous or vain, but he always remained agreeable. "Is the embroidery to match your yellow summer dress?"

"Oh… No." Should she have tried to match it? The embroidery was simple and the dress was only for the daytime, anyway. "Should it be?"

"I was just curious," Ferdinand said, which she supposed was meant as a reassurance. He went back to work on his knee and then read for a bit before going to take a bath. Bernie couldn't figure out if he really meant he was curious or if she should rip the whole thing out and redo it. She eventually decided to put it aside for a couple days, until she could work up the courage to ask again.

.-._.-._.-._

As bad as Sunday night was, with Ferdinand giving her that odd "just curious" explanation and then sleeping restlessly from his knee pain, neither of them could have predicted how bad Monday evening would be.

Ferdinand came home as Bernadetta was starting dinner, which was unusual on a Monday. He knocked and then took a very long time to unlock the door, long enough that Bernie was already near the doorway when he came in, worrying he'd lost his key. "Sorry to bother you so early," he said as he removed his shoes. "I don't mean to disturb you. I just needed to be alone for a few minutes. I'll… be in our room." He rushed into their bedroom, pushing past Bernadetta, and nearly slammed the door in his hurry. He hadn't even taken off his jacket.

It was odd behavior, and odder still, when Bernie listened at the door, she heard the wet, stuttering breathing of someone crying.

Should she knock? Ferdinand had said he wanted time alone. Was there really nothing she could do for him?

No. He had asked her for privacy and she would give it to him. It wasn't his fault that there was no private place he could go where he wouldn't have someone listening in.

She tried to eat her dinner. She was a few bites in when she heard Ferdinand sobbing. She had always suspected their bedroom walls were thin. She stood and went to knock quietly.

"Ferdinand? Are you alright?" He'd always let her help him before. Asked her, even. What had happened that was so bad, he didn't want her to see him?

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." In the few minutes since he'd come home, his voice had changed from passably normal to the watery, uneven tone of someone who was crying very hard. "I'm sorry to disturb your dinner."

"Are you okay?" Bernie asked again.

Ferdinand sobbed again and then said, "Fine," in his wavering, wet voice.

"Can I… get you some tea?" Bernie offered. It was what Ferdinand always offered when she was upset. She couldn't imagine what would upset him so much. If it was a death, he would have told her, right?

"I'll be alright," Ferdinand insisted. "I just… Need a minute." He gasped and then gasped again. It was heartbreaking. Ferdinand was always in good spirits. Even when he was down, he always looked for a bright side. He had never been anything but companionable since they'd met. He got worried sometimes, but Bernie hadn't seen him cry since their honeymoon. She couldn't think what would have upset him so much.

"Can I come in?" she asked. Ferdinand had always held her when she was upset, and it always helped. And he asked her to hold him when he was upset. She should be with him.

"Please don't." Ferdinand took a long, shuddering breath and then added, "I look a mess."

"It doesn't matter," Bernie said, because it didn't, really. Of course he was a mess; he was crying. They would deal with that later.

"I never meant for you to see me like this. I don't think I've ever cried like this." He sniffed. His voice was getting more steady. That was good, probably.

"You've seen me in every state of panic and upset," Bernadetta reminded him. "Please let me help you." She was starting to sympathy-cry. 

"Only if you want to," Ferdinand said in a very small voice, and Bernie opened the door just as he started sobbing again.

He was sitting on the bed, his jacket unbuttoned but not removed, a handkerchief hanging from one hand as he buried his face in both hands. His head was turned away from her. Bernie shut the door even though there was no one but the two of them there. A feeling of privacy always helped.

"Oh, this won't do," Bernadetta told her husband gently, trying to mimic the way he pulled her out of her fits. She rubbed a hand over his shoulders until he was less overwhelmed and then got him to let her remove his jacket. "You only want soft fabrics for a bad upset," she pointed out, and then untied and removed his cravat, too.

The crying hadn't lessened, but she hadn't really expected it to. She sat against the headboard and pulled Ferdinand over to her. He was shaking horribly, but very compliant.

There wasn't anything to say to someone who hadn't told you why they were upset, so Bernie just held Ferdinand. She draped her right arm loosely around his shoulders and, with her left hand, combed her fingers very slowly through his hair.

It was several minutes of inconsolable sobbing before Ferdinand shifted and said, "Bernie?" in a broken sort of voice that Bernadetta hoped she'd never have to hear ever again.

"What?" she asked to keep him talking.

"Am I… likeable?"

Her fingers tensed, digging into his torso somewhere around his ribcage. "What? Of course you are."

"Am I memorable? Am I worth remembering?" he asked as yet another wave of tears threatened to overwhelm his voice.

"Where are these questions coming from? What happened?" He was making friends in his class, right? He talked about the Black Eagles all the time, all the Adrestians as well as new members who had joined during the school year. Had Mr. Vestra said something? She wasn't supposed to know his chores had changed.

"I… I was just leaving a study session," Ferdinand told her slowly. Each word had to be said very deliberately because he was trembling so badly. Bernadetta felt her first tear fall as Ferdinand dabbed at his eyes again. "I… hung around a bit. You know. Wanted to… seem social, talk about the lessons." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And I heard some classmates say-- say where they were holding team dinner." Bernadetta added the whimpering noise Ferdinand was making in the back of his throat to the list of noises she could happily live without for the rest of her life. "So I asked Caspar--" there was a break in the words as Ferdinand collected himself enough to continue speaking. "--asked him what team dinner is. Bernie, the Eagles have gone to dinner together every M-- every Monday since Wyvern Moon."

Her hands didn't still. Her body didn't tense. Comprehension rolled over her like a wave. "And nobody told you," she finished.

Ferdinand nodded against her stomach.

"I'm so sorry," she said. She didn't know any words that could help with something so devastating. She wasn't sure she even knew words to describe what had happened.

"I can't stop-- all I can think of is which ones f-forgot me and which didn't want me there," Ferdinand gasped out. His shoulders drew in toward his chest, even closer than before.

"Of course they all forgot," Bernadetta soothed. "Ferdinand, they were just careless. Horribly, hurtfully careless. But it doesn't mean anyone hates you."

Ferdinand sobbed again. "Dorothea does," he said when he'd wiped his eyes and nose. "She lost -- no time telling me. Edelgard thinks I'm a braggart. Hubert thinks I hate Edelgard."

"It's only dinner," Bernie reminded him. "If none of those things keep them from including you at dinners you know about, there is nothing to keep them from having you at-- team dinner, you called it?"

Ferdinand nodded.

"Nobody is in a conspiracy to exclude you for one day of the week," Bernie said, hoping she sounded decisive and reassuring. When had Dorothea said she hated Ferdinand? Why did he continue suggesting Bernie be friends with her? Was there something about Ferdinand's friendly rivalry with Edelgard that he hadn't told her about?

"Linhardt even r… ran away from me once," Ferdinand admitted. "I know I'm annoying, Bernie. I'm… too proud, and don't listen, and--"

"That does not mean anyone has the right to make you feel this way," Bernadetta protested. Her dignified, considerate husband was shaking in her arms, trembling so hard he could barely speak. Her husband, who always assumed the best of people, was blaming himself for his classmates' oversight.

They stayed like that a while longer. Ferdinand occasionally asked Bernadetta questions about himself, which she tried to answer with reassurances about his good qualities. Eventually, it seemed Ferdinand had cried himself out.

"Sorry I look such a mess," he said, as if that mattered at all. He stood, blew his nose, and went to throw his handkerchief into the laundry and get a clean one. "Oh, Bernie," he said when he turned around again. "I made you cry."

He came and cradled her face in his hand. It didn't have the same effect when his eyes were red and watery.

She put her hand over his. "I was sad for you," she said. She felt such tender pity as she held her shaking, sobbing husband. It would have been impossible not to be moved.

Ferdinand twitched to alertness. "Oh, I have been-- your dinner will be cold."

"It was never warm. Oh, but you need to eat, too!" She started getting up. Her dinner was only bread and cheese and an apple and some nice candied walnuts they'd found at the market, but she would have to cut some extra bread… "We will eat together, and I promise it will be very friendly." She grabbed Ferdinand's arm and began leading him back to the door of their room. She faked cheerfulness, trying to distract him a little so he wouldn't work himself up again. "You were right about those walnuts; they're delicious and I've eaten them every night for a week!" She deposited him in his usual chair. "Go ahead and start on that apple while I get yours ready!" There was plenty for them both, as soon as she cut slices of everything.

"I am not terribly hungry," Ferdinand admitted.

"Just a bit of apple," Bernie pressed cheerfully. "I'm sure you worked very hard today, before the end of the day."

"Not more than usual," Ferdinand said, but she heard an apple crunch as her knife sawed through the bread. "I finished my chores, at least. There was a short study session, so it really did happen right before dinner."

"You are always telling me how hard you work," Bernadetta reminded him as she cut him a third slice of bread. "On horseback, and with lances… You need to eat." She set the bread aside and pulled the cheese onto her cutting board, a Goneril cheese aged six months.

"How do I face them again?" Ferdinand asked. He sounded so desperate that Bernie rested her knife against the board and looked over at him. "How do I act like nothing happened?"

Was that his plan? "You don't have to," she reminded him. "If some of your classmates don't like you, why should you go so far out of your way to act friendly toward them? Just do your classwork and be cordial." It was the most that could be expected of him.

"I mean at team dinner," Ferdinand clarified. "How do I invite myself next week? I suppose by asking Caspar…?"

Bernadetta's knife scratched against the cutting board as it skewed away from the wedge of cheese. Was Ferdinand really planning to attend the dinners his teammates had mutually excluded him from? It was unthinkable. Bernadetta could barely imagine working up the courage to attend class with all those people around, but now Ferdinand was going to go out with a group he had insisted disliked him. "Why would you go to that?" she asked in what she hoped was a calm voice. She started slicing more cheese.

"It is for all of the Black Eagles," Ferdinand said, as if his reasoning was obvious. "I cannot back down. As much as they have hurt me, accidentally or not, I cannot isolate myself from them, or else why was I so upset before?"

"They should invite you," Bernadetta reminded him. Her voice came out more forcefully than she had intended. "They were cruel and insensitive, and they should ask your forgiveness!"

"They will not invite me," Ferdinand countered. "The entire trouble is that they have not." He sniffed. Bernadetta didn't look up. "I will just have to join them confidently, as it is my place to be with them. I would not want to seem too proud to attend dinner with my housemates."

Bernie poured a handful or so of candied walnuts onto Ferdinand's plate and took it the few steps to set it down in front of her husband, sliding the rest of the apple slices onto his plate.

"Don't listen to me," she advised as she grabbed another apple from the fruit bowl. "I would barely be able to attend class, knowing what you know. I've been reassuring you, but if it were me, I would assume they all hated me. If you think you need to go, then you should go." She was making quick work of the apple. She would be able to join her husband in moments.

Ferdinand burst into tears again. Bernie put her knife down and went to comfort him. "I'm here," she soothed, holding his head against her chest, and then "It's okay." Ferdinand reached out to hug her in return.

It only lasted a couple minutes, this time. Bernie stroked her husband's hair (so shaggy! Did she need to make him a hair appointment herself?) and kept holding him close and speaking softly, and he eventually sagged against her.

It was a task and a half getting Ferdinand to eat his dinner. Bernadetta had to carry the conversation, which she was bad at, and keep the topics positive, which she was also bad at. She'd never thought about it before, but she'd never had to deal with a sad Ferdinand. He'd had other problems, like staying up late to the point of exhaustion, but even then, he was as spirited as anyone could be in that state.

There was only a little bread and cheese, and no walnuts, left on Ferdinand's plate when he stood up, saying something vague about a shower. He paused in the kitchen after Bernie offered to wash his plate for him, and said, "Thank you." Bernie wasn't sure if he was going to cry again, but he just looked her in the eye for a moment. Finally, he looked down and added, "...For everything," and turned and walked to the bathroom.

If he cried in the shower, the water drowned it out. The candles were lit and Bernie had added an extra log to the fireplace and put Ferdinand's clothes away by the time Ferdinand came back out. Bernie was embroidering again, and trying to think about the next plot point in her story instead of how abandoned Ferdinand must feel. It sounded like there were a lot of problems with his classmates that he hadn't told her about, but it would have to be at least a week before she asked about them, enough time for him to attend the team dinner event and either regain his confidence or decide that maybe Mondays were for family dinner, instead.

Ferdinand came out of the shower smelling of the slightly spicy cologne Bernie loved, still in just a shirt and trousers, and grabbed his book from the end table and sat next to her without opening it, staring at the fire. Bernadetta parked her needle and leaned against his shoulder, breathing in deeply.

"Do you like that?" Ferdinand asked gently, pulling Bernadetta into a hug. "I tried putting the scent on my hair and I think I like the effect."

"It's very nice," Bernie agreed. "It's important to do nice things for yourself." She leaned up, tried to kiss his cheek, and got his jaw instead. Ferdinand leaned his head over onto hers.

"Another project?" he asked at just the point when Bernadetta felt like she wanted to cuddle for the rest of the night.

"Oh-- I'm finishing one," she said. She held up the edge she was working on. "Just something for Lorenz, for the embroidery thread he gave me. I can only do drawnwork with other people around." She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was that she couldn't do  _ any _ white-on-white embroidery without someone there. Even hearing Ferdinand in the shower and knowing he was nearby had let her get to work, and she'd made good progress on the delicate border layer around the outside of the handkerchief.

"Can I see the corner?" Ferdinand asked. He was always appreciative of her work, so she handed it over.

"Beautiful stitching," he said as he looked over the colorful rose design embroidered in one corner. "The buds are an excellent touch. Did you design it yourself?"

"I did," Bernie confirmed.

"The color work is spectacular. No doubt, he will pull it out when he tells people about the rose thread in the future." Ferdinand handed the handkerchief back, though his eyes lingered on it for a moment.

"You're always so sweet," Bernie told her husband, feeling heat rise to her face. "It's just a little thank-you."

"Everything you leave your mark on is beautiful," Ferdinand said, and encased her hand in his.

There were many ways to handle disappointment. Bernie knew some of them well and others not so well. When the worst was done, she had offered distractions. Now Ferdinand had cared for himself and was offering kindness. And the scent of his cologne was so overwhelming that--

"Would you like to… Would you like to spend some time on… intimate activities tonight?"

The arm around her shoulder stayed, but Ferdinand looked away. He was smiling nervously. Bernadetta couldn't tell if he was still flushed from a hot shower or if he was blushing. "I would never want you to feel obligated…"

"I am your wife," Bernadetta reminded him. "It might be fun." She lowered her voice and added, "It might help a little." She turned toward him and put a hand somewhere between his shoulder and his chest and breathed deeply again.

"It will make your drawnwork take longer," Ferdinand pointed out. He was giving her an excuse if she wanted to back out. That was so sweet of him.

"It's only Lorenz. You're much more important to me." Especially tonight, but also in general.

"My hair will make the pillow wet," he said. Hopefully, he would stop after two.

"Then it will smell like you," Bernie countered, and kissed his shoulder through his shirt.

"Um. Well, if there is nothing to stop us…" Ferdinand started. Bernadetta stood up and offered her hand to help Ferdinand up, then blew out most of the candles as Ferdinand grabbed the stand with the carrying loop.

The darkness of a room lit by one candle made everything feel quiet. Ferdinand was barely dressed, and Bernadetta didn't bother with stays when she was home all day. All the ties on her clothes were in the front. She draped the dress and her petticoat over the back of her writing chair. When she turned around, Ferdinand was folding his trousers, which he dropped right on the floor.

It was good that the candle was on the far side of the nightstand because Bernadetta didn't have to be careful of it as she climbed up on the bed to remove her stockings. She removed one and Ferdinand, who kissed her knee as he slipped his hand under the fold of her stocking, removed the other.

"Marriage has been good for you," Bernie told him. "You've learned to appreciate a woman when she's showing off." She rubbed her foot up and down his arm as gently as she could.

"Only the one woman," Ferdinand countered. "I would not trade you for a thousand other women."

Bernie pulled Ferdinand all the way onto the bed (or, he clambered over her and she pretended to have helped) and scooted forward a bit as she hitched the hem of her chemise up to her waist and then removed it completely.

Ferdinand paused with his hands on the hem of his shirt.

Ferdinand didn't cover up his hesitation. Bernie had never known him to be shy; once they had bathed together, all those months ago, he lost all pretense of modesty. "Is something wrong?" Bernie asked while her chemise lay on the floor and his shirt was still on his body. She reached for one of his wrists and started unbuttoning. "Would you like some help?"

"I don't-- I am not sure you would like to see me like that," Ferdinand said haltingly.

Oh. Yes. He had done this once before, after a class trip to defend against some bandits. It had taken some time to reassure him that the scar at his side was worrying, but not repulsive.

"A new scar?" Bernie guessed, and Ferdinand nodded. His eyes wouldn't meet hers. "You are so brave, going into battle knowing the cost," she told her husband, and took his other wrist. "You will have to allow me to fawn over your bravery." She wasn't good at that sort of thing. She was much better at saying, in her most heartfelt voice, that she was glad Ferdinand was alive. But Ferdinand appreciated some fretting.

He started on his buttons.

The cut on his arm had left only a thin scar, but it was still pink and raised from a new healing. Bernie ghosted her fingers over it, memorizing it, before pulling Ferdinand into her arms.

He reversed their positions quickly, wrapping her up in a hug and teasing that he'd trapped her, even as she nestled against him and kissed the arm holding her shoulder. Ferdie kissed the back of her neck in retaliation. She felt surrounded by his cologne.

They could take their time, and they did. Ferdinand even got the message when she ground her hips against his, instead of waiting for her to spell it out plainly. In moments, their drawers lay on the floor with their other underthings, and the intimate feeling of skin on skin was heightened. Bernadetta, in all her ugliness, was naked before Ferdinand and he only looked excited, not disgusted at all. His eyes swept up and down her body and he drew closer instead of shying away.

It was barely time for bed when they finally lay together calmly, after the main event and a nearly excessive amount of kissing. They were lying together, skin against skin, Ferdinand's body curled around hers like she was something precious and his hand pressed gently over her chest, and Bernie thought she could very easily fall asleep just like that.

So she did fall asleep, and slept well.


	9. End of the School Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Ferdinand and Bernadetta are really getting into the swing of things, Edelgard acts and the plot of the game kicks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter so much, and there's been so much happening, that I got impatient and decided to post tonight instead of tomorrow morning. This chapter really has it all for me: jealous Hubert! Sentimental Ferdinand! Bernadetta leaving her house during the day!!! I've been waiting so long to get you guys to Hubert's intro, and I'm so happy we're finally here. Next chapter, I'll even re-introduce that Ferdibert tag.
> 
> The High Holidays just ended, so I hope you had a good Yom Kippur (not necessarily a nice one, but a good one) if you celebrate. There's a lot to be mad about this year, so I'm glad we can all get right back to yelling at God again.

The next morning, Ferdinand left for class on time after saying a few extra "I am Ferdinand von Aegir"s to the bathroom mirror, and that was the last Bernadetta heard of the whole affair. The next Monday, Ferdinand stayed out for dinner and came home telling her about how everyone was friendly and polite and had acted like nothing was amiss. Acted like he was one of them and a natural addition to their party.

The ongoing news of that week was Ferdinand's complaints about Mr. Vestra. He was not given to complaining, but somehow, Mr. Vestra aggravated and offended him in the exact ways Ferdinand hated most.

"He is her lapdog!" her husband burst out on Thursday evening, pacing when he should have been reading or otherwise enjoying himself. "He does everything to her command. And then he has the gall to tell  _ me _ that my rivalry is futile! At least I am  _ trying _ to excel!"

"He is only a student, just like you," Bernie said. Ferdinand had never turned his anger on her, but he certainly did seem angry and, well, she was in the room. "Don't bother about him. Let me make you some tea." She stood and retreated to the kitchen, looking through their ample tea collection for neutral or soothing teas.

Ferdinand had not stopped pacing, but he also did not follow her into the kitchen. "He just has this  _ way _ of getting on my every nerve," he said, as if it weren't obvious. "I am sorry to involve you when you should have nothing to do with it. But he is just so  _ grating _ ."

Bernadetta remembered that she should probably put the kettle on and she could ready the cup after, so she did that instead. "Perhaps your rivalry should be with him," she suggested, almost as a joke.

"It would be beneath me," Ferdinand shot back, with feeling. "In rank, we are evenly matched; we will both have the Emperor's ear someday. But in behavior, I could never lower myself to bicker with some… simpering yes-man!"

It sounded like they bickered quite a lot, which may or may not have been the problem. As the kettle heated, Bernadetta finally found the chamomile and prepared the usual teapot. She was trying to let Ferdinand talk himself out, but the only thing that stopped him was his own sense of decency when he realized how long he'd been going on about the man Bernie had decided to think of as his new rival.

They had tea together and Ferdinand tried to apologize for going on about his classmate, but that only led to him talking about some snide remark he'd made that day. Bernie eventually changed the subject to the book she was reading with Bishop Seteth, which suitably distracted him. Hopefully, Ferdinand or Mr. Vestra would eventually complain to the Professor and they'd be reassigned.

.-._.-._.-._

"You are certain you will be alright?" Ferdinand asked as they neared the monastery that Sunday. He was going to the training grounds to spar a Mr. Fraldarius from Faerghus. He was always very lively and good-humored when he talked about their friendly rivalry, so it must really have been friendly.

"I will be fine," Bernie promised for at least the fourth time. "I came here all alone last week and it was just fine."

"Should I find you in the greenhouse after, or will you find me in the training ground?"

"I will find you," Bernadetta promised. "There is only so much corpse flower a person can smell before they have to leave." She was glad to have seen one, but didn't feel she needed to repeat the experience.

"And you will tell me if you are not up to a ride after?" Ferdinand confirmed. He really did like to fret; she had come to the school dozens of times to retrieve him at night, and now he knew she had come alone during the day, but he still worried over her so insistently.

"Riding relaxes me," she promised. "Unless something very unexpected happens, I will look forward to it."

Ferdinand nodded to the guards as they entered the monastery gate. They walked in the same direction until they had almost reached the infirmary, and then Ferdinand showed her where the training grounds were and they said goodbye.

She entered the infirmary. Professor Casagranda was there, and Mr. Hevring and Mr. Vestra. Mr. Vestra sat on one of the infirmary beds, looking a little slumped over.

"--am perfectly fine," Mr. Vestra was saying as Bernie walked in. He sounded frustrated. They all glanced up at Bernie as she came in, and then back to each other. Mr. Vestra looked paler than usual.

"Uh-huh," Professor Casagranda said as Bernadetta sat in one of the chairs near the door. She didn't sound convinced.

"I made a small miscalculation. This will pass." Mr. Vestra, usually so intimidating and in control, looked like a petulant child, staring at his knee so he wouldn't have to look at the healers.

"...And what did you miscalculate?" Mr. Hevring asked. "If this is a magic overuse thing again, I--"

"Thank you very much, but I like to think I am not so much of a simpleton as to make such a big mistake twice," Mr. Vestra interjected. "I just took the wrong dose of something. I will feel better in a few hours."

"You too-- don't tell me you're trying to build poison immunity," Mr. Hevring snapped. "It isn't real, you know it isn't real, and you're going to keep hurting yourself along the way." So, he yelled sometimes, too. Even sleepy Mr. Hevring took that tone that made Bernie want to apologize even though she hadn't done anything. She clamped her jaw shut.

"It is, in fact, called poison  _ tolerance _ and I wonder if you would assert the same sentiment to Manuela," Mr. Vestra said, and then lay down slowly and very carefully. "How much have you had today, Professor?" he asked as he eased his shoulders into place. "I get the feeling you haven't been sober in years, but here you are, treating us all more or less competently. I bet you could drink that blonde Golden Deer under the table without much trouble."

"What's with the blinking? What does blinking mean?" Mr. Hevring asked, sounding slightly panicked.

Mr. Vestra brought his hand up to rub at his exposed eye. "It means there's something in my eye. Stop  _ hovering _ ; the dose was slightly high, but nonlethal."

"I've got this," Professor Casagranda said. "Don't worry about it, Linhardt; he's just grumpy because he's sick and it's his own fault. You can go back to whatever you were doing."

Linhardt sighed and, with a final, frustrated, completely ineffective glare at Mr. Vestra, turned on his heel and walked directly out of the room, still scowling. Bernie drew back from him as he passed her.

Professor Casagranda nudged the student-shaped lump on the bed. "Hey, you. What'd you take?"

"You wouldn' know it," Mr. Vestra's deep voice mumbled.

"Alright, so what d'you  _ need?" _ she asked. "Glass of water? Little bit of food? Antidote that's sitting in a locked, cursed drawer of your writing desk?"

"...I'll take the water," he conceded.

"With you in a second, Bernadetta," Professor Casagranda said as she fetched Mr. Vestra a glass of water. "You were here right on time, but students who pass out in the hallways get precedence."

"I didn't  _ pass ou--" _

"So, you're saying you willingly let Linhardt carry you here like some kind of mourner's rag doll? Because you either fainted or you didn't, kid. Here, d'you need help sitting up?"

The glare he was leveling at his professor was positively lethal. "I assure you, I can sit up under my own power," he said. Maybe, if she were used to him, it would seem like the same posturing Ferdinand engaged in, but he just seemed incredibly scary.

She shouldn't have let a man not much older than her, slow-moving and lightheaded, get to her so much, but Mr. Vestra had such a menacing air, she couldn't help thinking of her father, and of the things he'd done without looking half so threatening as Mr. Vestra, and her arms began to tingle and her vision went blurry, and oh, her vision was going dark, and--

.-._.-._.-._

“Whoa, shit!” Manuela yelled, right next to his ear. Or, somewhere around there. It was almost fascinating how his eyes could go completely out of focus while his other senses remained clear enough for him to drink water easily. Manuela bustled to the other side of the room, near the door, and said, “I think she fainted. What the fuck?”

Bernadetta von Aegir was the most fearful person Hubert had ever met. She tried to come to dinner with the Black Eagles once a month or so, but had actually dined with them only three or four times that year, and never stayed after she was done eating. Hubert had been dubious about Ferdinand’s claims that he “needed” to take her to market on Saturdays until he had their house watched and learned that Bernadetta never went farther than her building’s trash bin on her own. Her anxiety seemed to strike at random, and the smallest thing said or unsaid would set her off, leading to heart palpitations, heavy breathing, or sometimes even running away from the dining hall altogether. Hubert wouldn’t put it past her to faint from a passing thought.

Manuela worked on reviving Bernadetta, who made soft, wordless noises as she was led to a bed to lie down. Hubert, for his own part, finished his water and slowly lay himself back down to wait out the dizziness and disorientation brought on by this poison. Perhaps having such an unpredictable person in the infirmary would make the next few hours less boring than poison recovery normally was.

He would never admit it, but it felt nice to listen as Manuela soothed the fearful woman across the room. Her voice was warm and kind.

Bernadetta said, “Ferdinand?” as soon as she was able, and the illusion was broken. Hubert tried to stop listening to their conversation altogether.

“Just Manuela,” Manuela said as Hubert tried to phase their conversation out of his consciousness. Maybe he could sleep through the worst effects; that would be nice.

“How about you? You doing alright?” Manuela’s voice was clearer, closer, sharper. She didn’t take the same gentle tone when it was just Hubert she was talking to. It wasn’t like he was disoriented, too.

“I will be fine,” he snapped. “Go on back to your sweet little pet over there, if you were having so much fun.”

“Hey, when someone acts like a sweet little pet, they get treated like one,” she retorted. “In the meantime: anything I can get you? More water-- are you shivering? I can grab you a blanket.”

It was more like shuddering. He didn’t usually get cold. The dizziness was starting to really bother him, but the only cure for that was time. “I’m warm enough. Just let me sleep it off; I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but what vital signs should I be monitoring?” Manuela asked. Ironic, that: saying “okay” and then not leaving him alone. “What should I check up on later in the week? If you’re some big expert about this poison, tell me how to treat you!”

He was  _ exhausted _ , was what he was, and sure, he’d taken this one before in smaller doses, but it wasn’t like it had been extensively studied. He snarled, “If you don’t stop pestering me about it, I will get up and leave and you won’t even have me under observation!” If he knew more and could dose himself more precisely, he wouldn’t be in the infirmary to begin with. And it made no sense for Manuela to keep bothering him when she, like Ferdinand, like Edelgard, like seemingly everyone in the world except Hubert, would obviously rather dote on Bernadetta von Aegir.

Manuela laid into him in earnest, then. She yelled, “Goddess, Hubert, just let me help you! There isn’t any shame in needing help sometimes.”

He turned over, away from her. “I’m done speaking to you,” he told her. He was too tired for this, too dizzy. “Nothing productive will come of it. Talk to me when you’re sober and less emotional.” To top everything off, Bernadetta had been making soft sort of mewling noises that were now loud enough to be identified as sobbing. He wasn’t going to get any rest here, apparently.

“Whoa… Bernadetta?” Manuela left him alone again. Good. She went to say sweet, soothing things to the other patient in her care. Pet her head, get her some water. Bernadetta didn’t even have enough self-respect to be properly embarrassed, and Hubert couldn’t sleep in a room with someone crying so pathetically.

After several minutes of Bernadetta acting as pitiful as possible and getting a correspondingly doting reaction from Manuela, the door opened and Lady Edelgard’s footsteps clicked sharply toward him. “Hubert!” she called. She was pissed. His eyes still wouldn’t focus, but he saw her sharp movements, the powerful stance she took with her feet apart, legs straight, hands on her hips. “Would you care to explain to me why Linhardt said you’ve been microdosing again?”

Hubert tried to pull himself together, tried to sound coherent, but he barely managed one sentence: “Apologies, my lady; I suppose I got the dosage wrong.” He felt pathetic, making excuses when he should have been able to offer solutions.

“Do you really think it’s worth it?” Edelgard asked, and her voice was much softer this time. She sat at his bedside and Hubert rolled slightly toward her as the mattress dipped down. “I need you at your best, Hubert,” she told him, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Even if this increases the dose you can handle, is it worth all the trouble of feeling sick and fainting? There are so many poisons you can’t become immune to, is it even worth working on the scant few you can?”

It was a lovely argument. A coherent argument. Hubert would have responded, but a fresh wave of dizziness hit and he groaned instead. He wished he could just be asleep.

Edelgard carded her fingers gently through his hair. She asked a question, her voice gentle, and Hubert was barely able to hear her for trying to ground himself. He was lying down. He was in a bed. How did he have motion sickness when he was unmoving?

“Can I get you anything?” El asked, but it was like a dream. He couldn’t be sure if she’d really said it. The words swam like echoes bouncing off water. Hubert’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to keep his eyes open. He got the vague impression that his lady said something warm and affectionate and then leaned forward to kiss his forehead. She was so pale, like porcelain. Almost as pale as the lime-washed walls of the infirmary.

Hubert didn’t fight the delirium. It was impossible to know how long it lasted. His awareness was vague and incomprehensible. He heard Lady Edelgard have a conversation with Bernadetta and Manuela, heard the friendly tones of their voices, but couldn’t pick out a word they said. It was one of many things he knew existed, somewhere in the periphery, but which he was wholly unable to focus on.

He existed in a sort of middle space for an unknown period of time. When Ferdinand von Aegir burst in the door, he could have sworn he’d hallucinated the man until he recalled that Ferdinand’s appearance had been prefaced by loud, steady footsteps in the hall outside.

Hubert pulled all his focus together. The relationship between Ferdinand and Bernadetta von Aegir was a mystery to everyone. Ferdinand doted on his wife, went on and on about her charms and good qualities, made endless excuses on her behalf, but Bernadetta was still such a fearful little thing. Even now that he had their house watched, Hubert’s spies reported no yelling or sounds of fighting from inside. The snippets of conversation that  _ could  _ be heard through the door fell into only two categories: Ferdinand trying to calm his wife down from one of her nervous fits, and more recently, Ferdinand complaining about Hubert. There was no explanation for why Bernadetta would remain so fearful for nearly the whole school year while living with someone who treated her well; there had to be some quieter secret, some reason she acted so raw and vulnerable even in public. 

Ferdinand, always the knight in shining armor, yelled and fussed over his wife. It was even more obnoxious than Manuela’s sickly-sweet softness. Hubert turned toward them so he could watch their Fretting Theatre, where Ferdinand acted worried and sympathetic while Bernadetta remained just as upset as before.

Bernadetta said something in her soft, tired voice. Did she have to lay it on so thick? Ferdinand very sternly told her, “You  _ look  _ pale,” the first words Hubert had understood for… some indeterminate period of time. He continued, “There is no need to reassure me, Bernie; I know you hate to say when anything goes wrong, so I will worry about you regardless.” Yes, because of everyone in the room, the one who needed fussing over was obviously the one who could faint at the drop of a hat and not the one who’d literally been poisoned.

Well. At least it was Ferdinand misdirecting his efforts. Hubert wouldn’t want to be fussed over by such a pompous git, anyway. Ferdinand touched her; Hubert could hear cloth rustling and see Ferdinand's back move, but from that distance, with everything already blurry, he couldn't tell much more. Bernadetta lay still and calm beside him, so if nothing else, they did have an easy and casual physical relationship, the way a married couple ought to. She played at being timid and fragile, but if Bernadetta was intimidated by her husband touching her that way, touching and moving her clothes (her sleeves?), she was perfectly capable of yelling or squirming or thrashing or even just getting more upset. Ferdinand’s voice was warm and sweet, with none of its usual pomposity, as he said, “I know Manuela is taking good care of you, darling, but please do not fault me for worrying. Is it like that time in Gloucester?”

Okay, references to shared memories: a decent sign of a healthy relationship. If nothing else, an indicator that he’d been fretting over her since before the Officers’ Academy. She responded so low, Hubert could barely hear her, but kept laying still. She was as calm as she’d been since entering the room. Fascinating.

Ferdinand took her hand in both of his and said, “I would not wish to overwhelm you. Do you want me here, or would you prefer some time to rest alone?” His voice was achingly gentle, sickly-sweet. Hubert couldn’t stand him.

“Are you saying the wife you brag so much about doesn’t even like having you around?” Hubert asked. He couldn’t see, he could barely think, but more than anything, he couldn’t just let this interaction go well. He needed to know what happened when they were under stress. What was it that Bernadetta was afraid of, and how did Ferdinand respond to her distress when the only witnesses were a professor he didn’t take lessons from and a peer he hated?

Hubert couldn’t see details, but he could see movement. Ferdinand’s back straightened, the blob of orange that Hubert recognized as his hair popping up over the black of the back of his uniform. His voice was cold and clear, as usual, when he said, “If there was ever a right time, this is the opposite of that. I would thank you not to bring Bernadetta into our argument; it is truly ignoble of you.”

Most people thought Ferdinand’s voice was cheerful and friendly, but Hubert knew better. He knew a mask when he saw it. Maybe, in such a fraught situation, he’d finally be able to figure out what Ferdinand von Aegir was hiding under his pompous mannerisms.

Also, Bernadetta’s legs had changed from flat to a slight triangle. That meant raised knees, meant pulling her extremities toward her core, meant  _ tension _ . It was working.

“Yes, and that is truly the standard by which all actions should be judged,” Hubert mocked, openly sneering at his classmate. “Where would I be if I did not have the unimpeachably noble Ferdinand von Aegir guiding my way?”

“Bernie, you’re shaking,” Ferdinand said. He was like a different person when he spoke to her. It was time for Hubert to back down; he wouldn’t want the delicate flower on the other side of the room to faint again.

Manuela crossed to Bernadetta’s bedside, too, asking, “Are you sure you ate this morning? Haven’t eaten anything new or unusual, or got stung by a bee?” The response was too quiet for Hubert to hear, but he thought he heard the word ‘fine’ in it. Manuela charged forward with, “Is there a possibility you’re pregnant?”

Hubert missed the response to that. His vision blurred even more, so that he could barely discern general shapes anymore, and the world spun like it had before he fell earlier. He managed to push out the words, “Manuela? I’m very dizzy,” but had no way to know where she was until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

It washed over him like a wave. He didn’t stay disoriented very long, and he didn’t lose himself like he had when Edelgard visited, but his vision and hearing were shot even though he felt completely lucid, and of course he also felt sick. Manuela asked if he was going to  _ be _ sick, if he was alright, if he was worried he might faint again, and Hubert just made general sort of grumbling noises in response. He didn’t want to find out if he was unable to speak properly.

During the episode, it seemed amazing that Manuela was able to tell that what he needed was for her to keep holding onto his shoulder, keep speaking to him in that even, sympathetic tone; as the dizziness cleared, he realized he’d been holding onto her arm. He grimaced a little in embarrassment and apologized as he let her go.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she said. Her hand lingered on his shoulder a moment, squeezed gently before she removed it as if to say,  _ I'm here. I've got you. _ “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Still wish you’d let me help treat you…”

Hubert had come back to himself at just the right time. As Manuela laid the back of her hand on his forehead, he heard the couple on the other side of the room enter an  _ incredibly  _ interesting conversation.

It started with Bernadetta saying, "Sorry. I… Should get up; it really is ridiculous, acting all delicate like this.” He heard her squirming as she added, “I-- never meant to--”

“Bernadetta, you are unwell,” Ferdinand said. Interrupted. The soft tones were still there, in the background, but now his voice was more confident, more self-assured. “You must not think of yourself as any trouble; of course we just want you to feel better.” Bernadetta stopped moving.

She stopped moving, but her breathing got fast and hard. “Your hand. Your hand is holding me down.” The sort of thing you heard in interrogation sessions before a scream, complete with abject panic.

Ferdinand’s confident, friendly tone didn’t change as he said, “Darling, if you feel so much better, then I am sure Manuela will say as much in a moment.” Was he ignoring her? Or had he simply not noticed? “Wait a moment, for my peace of mind?” Bernadetta was hyperventilating. Hubert could hear her from across the room. Manuela, still fussing over him, either wasn’t listening or was letting them sort themselves out. Or maybe she thought taking care of Hubert was a higher priority. Finally, long after the problem had started, Ferdinand noticed there was something wrong. He said, “Bernadetta?” and, getting no response because his wife was having a panic episode, called much louder, “Something’s happening with Bernadetta. We need you.” There was a thread of panic in his own voice. Was it possible he hadn’t noticed that his own wife, who he claimed he loved dearly, who he acted so attentive to, was upset? He’d literally talked over her while her breathing went sideways. Hubert paid attention to that and that only, letting Manuela fuss over him however she wanted to.

“I’m a little busy over here, you know,” Manuela snapped. She reached under Hubert’s bangs and pulled the eyelid of his bad eye open with her fingertips. He could sort of make out her blurry outline. That eye didn’t focus properly on good days, so he had no idea what information she hoped to get from looking at it.

“You don’t understand; her breathing is all wrong,” Ferdinand insisted. He sounded on the verge of tears. Hubert couldn’t see his face, but if Ferdinand was acting, he was extremely convincing.

“Well, shit!” Hubert rocked side-to-side as Manuela stood up suddenly to book it across the room. “Should’ve said that in the first place. Bernadetta? Bernadetta, stay with me.” She sat across from Ferdinand and pulled one of Bernadetta’s hands to her own, nearly bare chest, probably over her heart. “You’ve got this. Breathe with me. Just breathe with me, Bernadetta.”

Through helpless, too-fast breathing, Bernadetta squeezed out the word, “Can’t.” All this over her husband's hand on, what? Her shoulder? Her chest? Hubert could sort of see why everyone took pity and doted on her.

“You just need to try,” Manuela reassured her. “We’re going to take one slow breath. Just one. Breathe with me.” Hubert didn’t hear any change in her erratic breathing, but Manuela said, “Good, that’s good. Great work, Bernadetta.”

She coached and encouraged Bernadetta into deeper and steadier breaths. Ferdinand encouraged her, too. Hubert saw Ferdinand reach for her, to pet her hair or shoulder or something, and then Bernadetta said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” Ferdinand told her. He didn’t sound passive-agressive. He didn't even sound very defensive. “I will sit down until I am needed. Do not worry about me, darling. Listen to Manuela; she knows best.” He stood up and went to sit in one of the chairs by the door. He buried his face in his hands and sighed, not the normal actions of someone who… what? Had been rejected? Had frightened his wife? If he upset her and backed down as soon as he realized, then why was Bernadetta so readily frightened? Was it because he normally plodded on without noticing her distress? No, that was too weak an assumption; if he respected any boundaries she set, then it would become easy to tell him when to back down. He wouldn't even have thought of such a weak argument if he didn't have a headache. Then again, if Ferdinand didn't even notice his wife's distress until she told him about it in words...

Bernadetta was saying, "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time." How long had Hubert been analyzing her and Ferdinand's relationship? "I know you have more important things to do -- Mr. Vestra is actually ill -- and I've been bothering you over nothing, fully aware of how valuable your time is--" Oh, false goddess above, she was rambling. She could keep that up indefinitely, and it always garnered a lot of attention. Ferdinand could usually stop her, but other people's responses usually made it worse.

Manuela took a more straightforward tone, a tone more like the one she used with Hubert, to interrupt: "Uh-huh. So, you think breathing like that isn't a problem?" she asked.

Bernadetta floundered, caught between belittling herself and insulting Manuela's professional knowledge. "Oh, not at all! I'm so sorry to imply that. Just, I usually end up alright, and Mr. Vestra's been poisoned!" Damn right. His head felt like it was going to split apart. "I didn't mean to say anything rude, just to apologize for seeming so concerning when I'm really fine, I promi--"

"Oh, would you just shut up?" Hubert snapped. It wasn't part of his plan to aggravate the Aegir couple; his head just hurt horribly. "Have you ever tried being quiet for ten seconds together?"

"Excuse me?" Ferdinand snapped from across the room. He got up, but paused when he passed the foot of Bernadetta's bed, like he expected Hubert to attack or something when he could barely see and couldn't get up at all. "Are you really saying that to  _ my wife _ when you know she has been in acute distress nearly since she got here? Do you have no compassion at all for people when they are distraught?"  _ That _ was the Ferdinand Hubert knew. Pompous, defensive, always assuming the worst of him, always convinced he was standing up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves.

"I'm gonna need you both to stop," Manuela said, but Hubert was already preparing to speak.

"I suppose you are about to tell me I am very ignoble if I would like to recover from poisoning in a reasonably quiet room," Hubert snapped. Wow, his  _ head! _ He hadn't gotten a headache like this either of the times he'd tried this poison.

"The poisoning is your own fault," Ferdinand retorted. "Not even Lady Edelgard approved it for whatever secretive and conspiratorial activities the two of you get up to!" That was rich, coming from a man whose motivations were impossible to parse.

Ferdinand had a  _ way _ of getting to Hubert. Hubert wasn't proud of that, but it was a fact, and he couldn't stand down when Lady Edelgard's honor was questioned. "Oh, we are conspirators now?" he challenged. "And what, pray tell, are we conspiring to do?"

Ferdinand all but yelled, "How on the Goddess' green earth should I know? There are people in this world, Hubert, who do not concern themselves with your personal whereabouts as their chiefest concern! There are even, though I am sure this must never have occurred to you, people who notice when their apartment is being watched by someone in their schoolmate's employ and decide a confrontation is more trouble than it is worth. Do you truly believe you are as subtle as you say you are, or do you understand that, for most of us, all of us who came here to study and not to stroke our own egos, it is simply not worthwhile to investigate the sketchy, yet pompous behavior of Hubert von Vestra?"

_ "You _ are criticizing  _ me _ for my ego?" Hubert snapped. "You, the great fop Ferdinand von Aegir? The man who insists that anything his princess can do, he can do better? You shout your own name in the heat of battle; shall I ask your wife if you shout it in bed, as well?"

_ "How dare you--" _

"Ferdinand, I'm gonna need you to leave," Manuela said, rising to intercept him just as he was preparing to approach Hubert's bed and make things really interesting. Hubert's headache had by no means gone away, but at least he'd had a good argument. He'd learned a lot from it.

"But, Professor, did you not hear him saying such lewd and insulting things about me?" Ferdinand whined.

"Are you planning to challenge me over such an obvious joke?" Hubert asked, egging him on. Riling Ferdinand up was too easy. "You really--"

"Zip it, von Vestra," Manuela snapped. "If I could, I'd throw both of you out. Ferdinand, go for a run, spar your classmates, do whatever it takes to cool your head. Bernadetta can stay as long as she needs to; you won't miss the chance to walk her home." What a darling. What a storybook prince.

Ferdinand stood still for a moment. Hubert wished he could see the expression on his face. At last he turned sharply, and as he walked quickly out of the room, he said, "I will be at the stables if anything changes." He sounded mad. Even dizzy and in pain, as Hubert was, he noticed that Ferdinand had forgotten his social niceties; he didn't say goodbye to his wife. Maybe that was normal, and Ferdinand had forgotten the act he usually put on in public?

Hubert muttered, "Ponce," under his breath and hoped Ferdinand heard it before he shut the door.

"I hope you're proud of yourself, asshole," Manuela said. "Ever tried being nice to people? Just for its own sake?"

He didn't care. He didn't like or dislike her enough to hold a conversation when his head felt like it was going to crack open. He made a noise that didn't sound half as miserable as he felt and would have turned away if he weren't still watching Bernadetta. She tended to get more intimidated by men than women, and even much braver women were often upset when men yelled in front of them.

Manuela sat by Bernadetta's bedside again as she asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Bernadetta said, not too slow or too fast, almost like she was actually alright.

"You seemed pretty worried for someone who's fine," Manuela said. Sage insight from someone whose eyes were working, doubtless. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nothing important. I really don't feel faint anymore; I can do the magic lesson I came here for." She what? After all that, she was worried about a magic lesson? Bernadetta von Aegir, the mousiest woman in the world? "Oh! Not that I'm trying to pressure you into it. I've already taken up so much of your time, and when you were busy with a student! Maybe I should go. I really don't mean to be in your way; please don't be mad at me!"

Hubert groaned, just a little, just softly. Bernadetta's nervousness and her unwillingness to admit to it were fascinating, but her voice really did get shrill sometimes.

"You, uh. You assume people are mad at you a lot of the time, don't you?" Manuela asked. She was doing Hubert's work for him, now.

The most important question so far, and Bernadetta didn't respond.

After a couple moments of wordless floundering, Manuela took pity on her and said, "Don't worry about it. We can do the lesson if you want, but I don't mind taking a rain check until next week. You're really sure you're alright?"

Bernadetta burst into tears.

_ That _ was interesting.  _ That _ was the sort of reaction Hubert had been trying to cultivate. It was much easier on his headache than her panicked rambling, too.

Manuela, naturally, leapt into action. She said, "Hey, hey, kid, you okay?" and presumably held Bernadetta's hand or something. Hubert noticed his eyes were closed and opened them to ensure he didn't drift off.

"I don't like men yelling," Bernadetta said through her tears, one of the most direct things she'd said so far. "I'm sorry. I know they weren't yelling at me, but…"

"No, Hubert definitely yelled at you," Manuela reminded her. Hubert rolled his eyes. Then she asked possibly the most important question; Hubert could have kissed her. Very casually, as if it was no great issue, she asked: "Does Ferdinand ever yell at you?" It occurred to Hubert that, if Ferdinand knew his house was being watched, he might have been able to seem better than he was while Hubert's agents were listening.

"No, never," Bernadetta said. Wait, had Manuela asked about yelling or hitting? He was pretty sure she'd said yelling. "But. Well. Everyone has a breaking point, you know? And I… I really  _ like _ the way he acts around me. I don't know what I'd do if he yelled. If he did, it wouldn't be long until… You know…"

"Hey, hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Manuela said very gently. Did Bernadetta actually realize Hubert was still awake? The woman was a gold mine of information. "He doesn't yell at you at all? Not even when you disagree about things?" Not exactly subtle, but Bernadetta wasn't subtle, either.

"No, never," Bernadetta confirmed. "I guess that's why it took me by surprise when he yelled just now." In a much softer voice, she added, "And Mr. Vestra, too."

Exhaustion overwhelmed his desire to stay alert. That was probably enough, anyway. Bernadetta von Aegir had provided him with  _ fascinating _ information to reflect on as he fell asleep. ...Just as soon as he put it together into an order that made sense...

.-._.-._.-._

Edelgard called a house meeting, as she did every week or so, and Ferdinand was struck to the core for the second time that semester. Edelgard called a house meeting and she revealed her identity as the Flame Emperor and her intention to rebel against the Church.

"If you don't want to join the fight, I understand," she told them. "The road will be long and hard. But I believe it is the only way to give Fódlan the future she deserves, without the Church's influence and the oppression of the crest system hurting all of us." Anyone who decided to leave right then would be spared, she said. An act of goodwill. Anyone who decided to stay would be assured a share in the future Edelgard imagined.

When it came Ferdinand's turn to pledge, he couldn't think of what to say. He finally settled on, "I cannot decide this alone. I will discuss it with my wife and have an answer for you tomorrow morning." He didn't know if he would have known his answer if he was only responsible for himself. Edelgard's plans and the reasoning behind them seemed sound, and although Ferdinand had always been devout, she had assured them that the religion of Sothism wasn't what she had a problem with; it was the land grabbing and human experiments and breeding programs, the corruption that had been at play behind the scenes while people like Ferdinand said prayers they felt in their hearts.

He still needed to talk to Bernadetta.

Hubert cornered him on his way out of the meeting. "Is that really all you have to say?" he asked. His lips were curled into a grimace. "Can't even give your own opinion? I know you have one, o noblest of nobles. I thought you could at least be honest."

For once, Ferdinand didn't rise to the insult. "I could give you my answer today and I might still need to give you a different one tomorrow," he told his classmate. "This is historic. I cannot ask Bernadetta to support me in something she objects to." Why single him out? The reason for his abstention was obvious. "I will not go back on my word once I have given it, so you will have to wait for me to discuss it with her."

"Will you ask her what orders you should give in battle, too?" Hubert needled, and Ferdinand lost his patience.

"I have just learned that my faith is a lie," he snapped. "That the noble, good-faith efforts I have made my entire life were only the result of a woman manipulating me and everybody I know. Do you think my feelings are not conflicted? Do you think I would not ally myself with your cause in a moment if it were only me?" He had said too much. He wasn't supposed to let slip which side he wanted to fall on. He lowered his voice. "If Bernadetta and I have opposing views, I cannot join you. It would be dangerous for everyone involved. I can only give you my word that I will not fight against you."

Hubert's back straightened. When he finally spoke, he sounded surprised. "Oh. You… Really?"

Ferdinand nodded. "You, personally, annoy me to no end, but your cause is just, as far as I can tell. Perhaps war was always inevitable once the Church started claiming power it had no right to. But I cannot make my final decision until I have decided with my wife, as a household, what we will do."

"As a household," Hubert parroted. "Who, exactly, do you consider to be in your household?"

"If you are worried I will warn my father, you have no need to," Ferdinand told him. "I trust Lady Edelgard when she says this is related to the Insurrection, and I have hated him for the treason ever since it happened. He does not deserve my forewarning." He was tired. It was still afternoon, but war was long and hard and it stretched before him indefinitely. "Will you let me go, Hubert? I expect Bernadetta will need a while to think about this."

Hubert offered his hand. Ferdinand couldn't remember the last time they'd shook hands. "I will see you tomorrow or not," he said. "I am glad to hear I will not see you on the opposing side."

Ferdinand shook his hand. "Good luck on creating the future you have hoped for," he said. "Whether I am able to help shape it or not."

They both paused a moment before Ferdinand left and Hubert returned to his Emperor's side.

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand walked home in a daze. He only knew he had to reach Bernadetta before anyone else could bring the news. It took three tries to fit his key into the lock, and he barely remembered to remove his shoes when he came in the door.

"Bernadetta," he called, instead of "I'm home" or any more normal greeting. He went into the bedroom; she was usually there.

She sat at the writing desk. She didn't know anything yet; she was innocent. She smiled at him and said, "Welcome home!" as if it were an ordinary day.

"There is going to be a war," he told her. Her eyes widened. Her smile fell. "A real one. And I… We need to talk before I make a decision."

"Who are the factions?" she asked as she abandoned her pen and stood up. "Ferdinand, come sit down. Who are the factions?" She pulled him into the room, but then started unbuttoning his jacket.

"You remember I told you the mysterious figure of the Flame Emperor had appeared?" Ferdinand asked. His fingers and toes felt numb. "It was Lady Edelgard the entire time. She has the Crest of Flames."

"A Minor Crest of Seiros," Bernadetta corrected him. "The Crest of Flames is a fairy story."

"She showed us," Ferdinand insisted. "She has the Minor Crest of Seiros and also the Crest of Flames. It was exactly as it appears in history books."

"Two crests?" Bernadetta asked. Ferdinand nodded. "That is impossible. It does not happen."

"It happened to her," Ferdinand told her. "After the Insurrection, when her siblings died… The story I always heard was that they were hidden away somewhere near Fhirdiad until the unrest was over, and their hiding place was attacked. Today, she told us they were experimented on, some sort of perverse blood magic, and she was the only survivor."

"But how does that lead to war?" Bernadetta asked, and pulled Ferdinand farther into the room, to sit on the bed with her.

"She sees a different future," Ferdinand said. "Her siblings died for their inability to take on a second crest, and she is determined to abolish the entire system of crests and of nobility. She has found evidence of the Church of Seiros manipulating the entire continent, keeping us in the dark about the world we live in, breeding people like animals and doing their own experimental blood magic." He tried to keep his admiration of Lady Edelgard and anger at the Church out of his voice. He wanted to ensure Bernadetta made her own decision. "Bernie, I need to know how you feel about this. Not how you think I feel, but how you feel. If we stand on the same side, I will fight; if our feelings are opposed, I will not. But the only answer I gave when I was asked about my allegiance was that I needed to confer with you."

"It is… A lot to respond to," Bernadetta pointed out.

"We can start smaller," Ferdinand offered. "We can go through it by steps. How did you feel about the Insurrection before learning this information?"

"I thought… I thought it was… Inevitable?" She sounded very uncertain. Ferdinand let her continue. "Because Emperor Ionius… He, um… He forgot… Oh, I forget what you said!" She hugged her arms to herself. "It was almost a year ago, now. It doesn't matter. Just tell me what you've decided."

"I don't want to know what you think I think about it," Ferdinand repeated. "I want to know how you feel."

"I hated it!" Bernadetta yelled. "I hate him; all he's any good at is acting smug and hurting people. If Princess Edelgard says the Insurrection hurt her even worse than we thought, I believe her. I hate the Insurrection, I hate holding my tongue about it in my parents' house, and I definitely hate people who hurt children!"

It wasn't an easy or nice way to get information, but Ferdinand supposed he could rely on Bernadetta's temper as he tried to wheedle the truth out of her.

"I am glad we feel the same," he told her. "I have resented my father for many years for his treason. Do you have any feelings on the rest of it? It is alright if you are still thinking."

"What backing does Princess Edelgard have?" Bernadetta asked. "Do you think there is a real chance of winning?"

"She has most of my classmates and the Imperial army," Ferdinand told her. "And the uniting power of the Crest of Flames. There is a chance."

Bernadetta nodded. "Tell me about the Church," she commanded. "You are on Princess Edelgard's side in this?" Ferdinand nodded. Bernadetta took his face in her hands. "I love you, Ferdinand. You have always been kind and gentle to me. If everything you've told me is true, I will be proud to watch you go to war."

She didn't seem nervous or conflicted. She pulled him down toward her and kissed him on the forehead.

"Then… Then you need to leave, and quickly," Ferdinand told her. "We strike tomorrow." He stood and went to the kitchen to fetch the money jar they kept for household expenses. "Pack clothes for at least a few days," he called over his shoulder. "Only return when you have heard the city is quiet." He pulled the jar down from its innocuous place among jars of pickles and preserves. "Do you think it is better if I know where to find you, so I can send for you, or if I do not know, in case I am captured and questioned?"

"I am not a combatant," Bernie pointed out as he returned to their bedroom. "I am strategically useful to nobody. Unless…" She paused in the middle of the room with her arms full of stockings. "I can think of one place nearby where I may be very strategic."

When she said it like that, Ferdinand understood. "Varley?" he asked as he went to grab a couple of Bernadetta's little purses.

Bernie nodded and went to put her stockings on the bed next to a petticoat. "If I stay just outside the township, I can warn them if the Church comes for them," she pointed out. "Or, if I am very lucky, I can clear the way for Princess Edelgard's forces."

"I will ensure we meet you there," Ferdinand promised her as he poured assorted coins into a beaded purse. "Take my riding horse, Marzipanstollen; Dandelion can carry me for the couple days it will take to get to Varley. Should I send anything else with you? Any silver tableware or fine wine? Do remember to take your jewelry."

"I think most of it is at your father's house in the City," Bernie reminded him. And wasn't that going to be a complicated situation to navigate? She laid some dresses down on the bed, a few day-dresses and all her fine evening gowns. "It is… It is really very important that you succeed," she said. Her voice was unsteady as she added, "Money and jewels are well enough, but you are irreplaceable." She fetched Ferdinand's overnight sack that he used for camping trips with the Black Eagles and began filling it, starting with her underthings. "You must return to me whole, Ferdinand. Every time we are apart, I need you to come back to me in one piece. Or I will not know what to do with myself."

"Hey," Ferdinand said in a low, soothing voice. The type of voice she had heard him use for his horses. He nestled himself behind her and hugged her close against him. "I will be alright," he promised. "You will, too. I will always come back to you, my dove." He kissed the back of her head. She shook in his arms.

"I trust you, my dearest," Ferdinand continued. "I will go to the monastery now and bring Marzi here. Check the bathroom, the larder, everywhere in the house for things you might need for your journey and your stay. Goddess willing, we will meet again in a few days." He kissed her head again and went to grab his uniform jacket and begin buttoning it again. Until tomorrow, he was still a student at the Officers' Academy. He felt like a spy.

It was easy to get into the monastery. He was in his uniform, after all, and the guards recognized him. It was even easy to take Marzipanstollen; he just told a groom that a friend had asked to borrow his horse and he'd be loaning her out for a few days as he tacked her up, then hopped on her back and rode out of the monastery walls completely peacefully. The horse was his, so it wasn't stealing, but it felt like betrayal. He didn't envy his classmates who would be sleeping within those walls that night.

He rode through town at a walk, with care to go around the markets that were closing up for the day. Marzipanstollen was too small for a warhorse, but she nearly had the calm temperament of one. She would see Bernie safely out of town and to Varley.

Ferdinand knew as well as anyone how dangerous the roads around Garreg Mach were, with raiding bandit parties and other, weirder dangers. There was nothing he could do about that while he was fighting to take the monastery. When he arrived home, he tied his horse up and went upstairs.

Bernadetta was sitting at the dinner table, Ferdinand's pack on the floor next to her. When Ferdinand came in, she said, "I decided to take the candlesticks, too." She had a plate in front of her and was picking at some food.

"I just need to fill this, and I will see you off," Ferdinand told her, holding up the waterskin he kept with his horses' tack. "She wears my baby blanket on her back, under her saddle. Remember I am always with you in spirit." He had kept the blanket as a good luck charm for himself, but Bernadetta needed the sentimental thought more.

His wife went to the bedroom and came out wearing her navy blue cloak. Ferdinand closed the waterskin and Bernie grabbed her traveling pack.

Downstairs, in front of their building, Ferdinand secured Bernadetta's bag behind the saddle, and the waterskin in its usual spot on the horse's flank. He grabbed Bernadetta in a tight hug and kissed her soundly, then held her just a moment more before giving her a leg up and telling her again that he loved her before seeing her off.

He sighed. It would be a long road of mutual trust ahead of them. He had to trust that she would pick her way safely through the mountains, and he had to keep her trust by returning to her alive and well.

He went inside to wash his face and fetch all the medical supplies out of their bathroom. On a whim, he also grabbed a bottle of wine to take with him. It had been a long time since he'd slept alone; maybe he and Lorenz could help calm each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand the war is ON!!! Next week will be an interlude because the next chapter happens post-timeskip, and there are lots of important things that happen during the War and during the year after the war before the story resumes. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. Interlude

Welcome to the interlude! This timeskip covers from the first attack on Garreg Mach Monastery to Summer the year after the War ends, so I want to make sure we’re all on the same page about what happened!

Before the War, the Black Eagles had recruited pretty much everyone they could, so there were a few people who sided with Liecester or Faerghus, but not many. This is an Everybody Lives scenario, partly because the point of this story is that living in a society and making that work is complicated and difficult. Dimitri is, unfortunately, dead, but Dedue is alive and so are Claude and Hilda. Claude has returned to Almyra, where he's openly the Crown Prince and can use his real name again, and Hilda is in Liecester, courting Marianne and trying to convince her brother to stop being such a wuss and go find Balthus.

Fódlan as a nation is referred to, depending on who’s speaking and how they feel about Adrestia’s declaration of war, as either “Adrestia” (i.e. since Adrestia conquered the other countries, it’s currently reigning over the whole continent) or “United Fódlan.” Sometimes, “Adrestia” is also used to refer to the southern half of the continent, i.e. the area everyone knew as Adrestia before the War. Similarly, if one of the Adrestian Ministers refers to “Liecester” or “Faerghus” in the present-tense, it’s in the context that those places are currently ruled by Adrestia.

Nevertheless, the Adrestian government recognizes that the former countries of Liecester and Faerghus have their own particular needs, due to their social climates and the way they were run before Adrestia conquered them, so they’ve maintained their capitals, but still follow Adrestian laws and send tax money to the central government in Enbarr. Instead of kings, they have governors. Dedue is the Governor of Faerghus and Lorenz is the Governor of Liecester.

Edelgard’s idea of abolishing the system of nobility is great, and her generals truly believe in her vision, but affecting change on such a massive scale takes time, and it’s only been a year. The Adrestian government has control of former Church land, but the project of buying land controlled by the nobility is taking a lot longer. Some noble houses were able to retain their land after the War simply because they were willing to manage and defend it. Appearing strong and in-control after such a long war is a higher priority than the exact nature of their real estate agreements.

Those who Slither in the Dark have been defeated, mostly because I didn’t want to deal with them. They’re no longer a problem. They went down faster and easier than anyone expected.

And… It’s been a year! Byleth went on a journey to… Find themself? Something like that? They were vague. Linhardt and Caspar left with a quickness and have been traveling across the Empire, and Hubert keeps tabs on them through his network. Petra returned to a free Brigid after the War; as reward for its support (and, in particular, it’s princess’ support) during the War, it no longer has to pay tribute to Adrestia. Dorothea has returned to the stage and her fans say she’s only improved as her voice has become more mature. There are plans for the Mittelfrank to go on tour soon.

Edelgard has been running a new empire. She’s been very busy, and she knows she couldn’t do it without Hubert’s support as both her Minister of the Imperial Household and her closest friend. Hubert, for his part, has been working himself to the bone: late nights, working from the moment he wakes up, the whole nine yards. Ferdinand worries about him, but doesn't want to cross any lines and has settled for ensuring Hubert has plenty to eat at their weekly teatime-slash-coffee-break.

Ferdinand and Bernadetta live in Enbarr, in the house Ferdinand inherited after his father died. They share a bedroom very happily now. Ferdinand made good on his promise to come home every time his battalion was sent out, and Bernadetta found she could be helpful as a relief organizer, helping to track and direct medical supplies. She learned some more healing techniques and sat at a few bedsides, but it became clear she was at her best working behind-the-scenes. They’ve managed to work things out to suit both of them, like going to parties together and leaving separately so that Bernie doesn’t get overstimulated and Ferdinand doesn’t feel he’s missed out on the action.

Also, during this time they’ve watched a lot of operas. If there’s anything Ferdinand loves about peacetime, it’s that there are enough people and resources to indulge in the arts again. Their favorite is almost exactly identical to the real-world rock opera “Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812,” which I can’t recommend in good conscience because the script uses the word “g*psy” a truly horrific number of times, but if you can ignore that, it does some really incredible things stylistically and I do make a lot of references to it later on. (If you do want to listen to it, cw for verbal abuse in “The Private and Intimate Life of the House;” if that bothers you, try reading the lyrics instead of listening the first time. Also, cw for a suicide attempt in “Natasha Very Ill” that’s mentioned in later songs as if she Just Happened to get very sick after the elopement was thwarted.) I do recommend listening to “No One Else” at some point, both because it’s a good song and because it’s part of a serenade in my fic. The story concerns a 17-year-old countess, Natalie, who’s entered a really good engagement (one of the finest matches in all of Russia/Faerghus!) who comes to Moscow/Fhirdiad to stay with her godmother until her fiance returns from the war. She’s seduced by a hot fratboy-type, Anatole, who’s much older than her, and also by his sister, the “queen of society,” who pays Natalie a visit at her godmother’s house to compliment her and invite her to a party Anatole will be at because “even if you’re engaged, you must wear your dress out somewhere!” (It’s really because she’s bored and destroying a teen girl’s life sounds like it would be v exciting.) Natalie would have eloped with Anatole (he didn’t even tell her he’s already married!) if her godmother didn’t catch him and scream at him to leave her house IMMEDIATELY. After he skips town, Natalie’s fiance returns from the war, having received her refusal, and gives their mutual friend her love letters. Even though he thinks, theoretically, that a “fallen woman” should be forgiven (remember she hasn’t actually DONE anything except say she would elope) he refuses to propose again because he’s a rat bastard. The friend, Pierre, returns Natalie’s letters and realizes how much strength it took to be seventeen and be manipulated by adults who knew exactly what they were doing and still accept the consequences of your actions. He tells her, “If I were not myself, but the brightest, handsomest, best man on Earth… and if I were free… I would get down on my knees this minute and ask you for your hand.” You have my word of honor that Ferdinand says that to Bernadetta whenever her self-esteem gets especially low. Ferdinand is drawn to the protagonist’s age, since he and Bernadetta were both seventeen when they married, and Bernadetta is drawn to the fiance’s sister, who’s locked in a cycle of abuse with her aging father. She also likes when Ferdinand sings Anatole's songs to her, because she loves the idea of being so desirable that someone would try to seduce her, much less go to such great lengths to have her when she was already engaged. The first time they watched it, they held hands very tightly the entire time and then went downstairs to the box office and ordered tickets to as many performances as they could.

There are a lot of references to operas and musicals in this section. I’ll mention them in the notes, but as a Theatre major who loves musical theatre especially, I can 100% confirm that the way Theatre People flirt is by quoting plays at each other. It’s just what we do. It’s very nice.

When the story resumes, it's Garland Moon (June) of 1186. Hubert is 26 and Ferdinand and Bernadetta are 24 (I got these wrong previously -- Ferdinand's birthday being on the last day of the year threw me)

That should be everything you need to know to make the rest of the story easy to read! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go ahead and use the comments for any clarifying questions, or contact me on Twitter @She5los. The plot really ramps up from here! Next chapter: Hubert interviews Bernadetta about her father and that's somehow *not* the thing she catastrophizes about!


	11. Hubert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta agrees to talk with Hubert about her father. It goes as planned. It also doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a long one because these sections go together really well! I know people were worried about Hubert being a huge jerk in the infirmary scene, so here he is on his best behavior, doing his job during peacetime.
> 
> Also, I get to add all my lovely Hubert tags back in! How exciting! Please get hype for Ferdibert and HuBernie!!!

“Would you be willing to talk to one of my friends from the Academy sometime this week?” Ferdinand asked over breakfast one morning. “Hubert, my friend from school who I take tea with every week, has some questions about your father now that… certain details of  _ my  _ father’s corruption have come to light.”

Hubert von Vestra  _ looked  _ terrifying. He did not temper his angular face and unusually pale eyes with an approachable personal style, but leaned into his inherent creepiness by keeping his hair so oily it was almost stringy, and wearing all black, and speaking in a way designed to intimidate people. The ministry he led was the one people mysteriously disappeared to, never to return. Bernie had grown more stalwart in the past few years, but he was still creepy.

But, as much as her husband liked to believe she made her decisions based only on her own feelings, she still preferred to comply with his wishes when she was able. She said, “I can, but I doubt I know anything important. He never shared much about his life in the City; I think he came back to Varley partly to enjoy  _ not  _ thinking about it.” And to ensure his daughters were on the right trajectory for marriage, of course.

“He says it is well even if you provide no new information,” Ferdie told her with a cheerful smile. “It would be sufficient for you to corroborate other people’s stories, or help him nail down more exact timelines. He does not expect to get much information from your mother or Miss Varley, as any embezzlement would have passed through their records.”

Bernadetta frowned. “Tell him that, if he mistreats Eleonora in any way, I will never speak to him and he will not be welcome in our house.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t shake. She still got nervous when she made decisions that affected Ferdinand.

“I will be exceedingly clear,” her husband promised her. “Barring mistreatment of your family, you would like to speak with him?”

Bernie nodded. “Yes. But do be sure not to get his hopes up.”

.-._.-._.-._

That was how she found herself in the parlor here and now, having just watched the most senior Advisor to Emperor Edelgard, the Minister of the Imperial Household, brew a pot of coffee even though he was her guest because “your dithering over the amounts will only make it sour.”

Bernie raised her cup to her lips. She took a small sip and didn’t let her smile falter as she decided to drink as little as possible. She felt lucky that Ferdinand had complained of its bitterness so many times, so she wasn't fooled by its enticing fragrance. Marquis Vestra seemed satisfied with the taste, and even smiled slightly as he put his cup down on its saucer.

“I am sure your husband told you this is more than a social call,” Marquis Vestra told her. “He is very protective of you and your interests.”

“Ferdinand is very kind,” Bernie said, looking down at her lap out of habit, and then back up at her conversation partner when she remembered she was learning more assertive manners. “He said you wanted to discuss my father.”

Marquis Vestra nodded and said, “Just so. I will be speaking with the families and associates of the remaining members of the Seven. Do you know what was unearthed about the former Duke of Aegir, or was that kept private from you?” He picked up his coffee cup again. It seemed a fitting drink for someone who looked like he could curdle milk with a glance. She hadn’t really talked much with Ferdinand’s classmates, either while he was at school or after, but she remembered the time she had passed out from the spiteful sound of his voice.

“A combination of embezzlement and child experimentation. My husband was suspicious of the former, but horrified by the latter, as you surely understand.” She got the impression that Marquis Vestra’s father had been a similar sort of person. A man who made a hobby of creeping people out, who brewed and tested poisons in his spare time, was generally not a person with a happy childhood.

She wondered what Minister Vestra did instead of polishing armor into the small hours of the morning.

“You are well informed, Lady Aegir. At this time, there is no proof of your father being involved in the experimentation, and frankly, embezzlement on the small scale we found is not a greater concern than the general instability in Fódlan at this time. Do you mind if we discuss my questions now, or would you like to get better acquainted first?”

It seemed an odd question. He was there specifically to ask his questions, right? She supposed Ferdinand had called him a school friend, but that was just--

...was just…

Perhaps Marquis Vestra was more than a school friend. She knew he and Ferdinand had been close by the end of the War; her husband had excitedly recounted several of their meetings to her. He had gone out to buy coffee, a rarity even now that the War was over, to ensure his “friend” was comfortable during his visit. Ferdinand was an enthusiastic and warm man, but did he smile a bit more when he talked about Marquis Vestra? Bernie couldn’t be certain; she hadn’t been looking.

“I would like very much to know more about you, Marquis Vestra,” Bernie told him. “My husband has told me a great deal already. I understand you are a very accomplished chemist?”

He looked surprised. “I would not expect him to put it that way, but yes,” the man told her. “My curiosity around poisons, from the mildest to the most lethal, was sparked when I was young. He has expounded on your talents, as well. The pitcher plant you embroidered during your engagement was very fine. For some reason, Ferdinand expected me not to know what it was.”

They were on a first-name basis, then. She kind of already knew -- Ferdinand did call his friend “Hubert,” after all, and had even when they hated each other -- but it was still a bit jarring to hear Marquis Vestra refer to her husband so casually. But that seemed to be the way of the Officers’ Academy; she remembered Ferdinand using first names for his classmates even in the first few weeks. Perhaps it was nothing to worry over.

“He is not a great lover of carnivorous plants,” Bernie pointed out. “He learns about them for my sake.”

Mr. Vestra nodded. “His aesthetic does tend to be rather pedestrian,” he admitted. “Do ensure that he keeps the long hair, will you? It really is his only interesting feature.”

That was… an insult? That was an insult. "My husband is the Prime Minister of Adrestia," she reminded the Minister of the Imperial Household. "I daresay he will do whatever he wants with his hair."

"What a shame," Mr. Vestra remarked casually, and had another sip of coffee. "If you asked, he would certainly keep it long. I suppose it will have to stay a crap shoot for now. Anyway, to the topic of your family. Do you mind if I write this down?"

"Not at all," Bernie said, and waited as he pulled a notebook and pencil from his inside coat pocket.

"Good, then let us begin. My understanding is that you had very little to do with the household accounts in Varley?”

Bernie nodded. “Yes. My mother tried to teach me to do the accounts, but I struggled with them. I did not have the precision required for accounting.”

“When she taught you her system, did you ever record expenses with her that could not be matched to a record? A receipt or invoice, for example?”

“I was fifteen at the time, so my memory is not clear,” Bernie told him. She remembered very little of her childhood. “I believe that most of what we did was double-checking the tax calculations of local businesses. My mother got so frustrated, I was not allowed to help her with the accounts after the first two weeks. I still have difficulty with my sums. But, no, I do not remember how our own accounting books were kept.” That was when Bernie had begun to suspect that she would be marrying an heir or widower instead of a younger or un-crested son. She had proved to Mother that she had no useful skills, so of course it would be necessary to get her out of the line of succession.

Marquis Vestra surprised her by saying, “My father was also very exacting. Like Miss Varley, I was able to rise to the challenge, but at great personal expense. I certainly understand the desperation of chasing a parent’s approval when you know you will not be able to meet their standard. Did your mother or sister ever mention anything that could be construed as a refusal to perform promised work? For example, if a special tax had been levied to repair a bridge or a road, or build a new public building like a water mill, did they delay hiring workers or dispute their wages?”

Bernadetta struggled to think of such a situation. When she was ten, a storm made a tree fall on the town hall in Stehlenberg and she remembered all the details of the work frustrating Mother to no end. “I think everybody wishes their workers came cheaper and worked faster, but to my knowledge, we did fulfill our obligations,” Bernadetta said, and picked up her coffee cup and took a very small sip. “We tended to hire our own people when we could, so if my parents had refused to pay them, even I would probably have heard about it.”

Marquis Vestra nodded. “Fair enough. Oh, do you mind if I ask some questions about your marriage? It was something of an anomaly, and Ferdinand seems to know very little about your side of things.”

Her marriage had happened nearly seven years ago, over a third of her life. She had changed so much since then. “Ask away.”

“I understand you had a very short engagement. A scant three months. Ferdinand showed me one of your letters that said you expected a Fall wedding, but the court records show it happened in Blue Sea Moon. Why move the date up for such a young couple?”

Bernadetta blushed a bit. She took another tiny sip of coffee so she would have an excuse not to answer. “I always sort of suspected it was because Ferdinand kept asking to meet me,” she said, not looking at the Minister. “I am a somewhat difficult person now, and I was an even less attractive marriage prospect at seventeen. I had no practical skills and my father ended up overselling my artistic skills when he spoke to the late duke. With such a short time to plan the wedding, it was easier to keep us apart, which meant Ferdinand would not have to know about my outspokenness and general mediocrity.” Her arms pressed against her sides, the way they always did when she discussed such things. Her hands rested gently on her lap.

Marquis Vestra looked down at her coffee cup, then at his notes, then back at her. Finally, he repeated: "Your outspokenness."

Bernie nodded.

"Is this a quality you have since lost, or…?"

Bernie frowned. "I would like to be able to say yes, but I frequently catch myself speaking out of turn around Duke Aegir. It is still one of my worse qualities."

Marquis Vestra frowned at her. Glared? He was probably glaring. “Mrs. Aegir,” he said, “Surely you know that your husband does his best to speak positively about you to his friends. However, I am one of his closest confidantes, so I can tell you with some degree of confidence that his concerns about you never include you speaking out of turn. And my impression at the Academy was that you were too intimidated to leave your apartment alone unless the whole town was asleep.”

They  _ were  _ lovers, then. That was all ‘closest confidantes’ could mean. She couldn’t help the twinge in her chest when she thought about Ferdinand concealing something so important from her. How long had they been in love?

“I do not wish to know what my husband says behind my back,” Bernadetta told her husband’s lover. “He is free to speak his mind as he pleases. It is only healthy for him to be able to vent about me.” It hurt to think about, though. She wanted to run away and lock herself in her room. Maybe she would have, if she was still young and still married to the scion of Duchy Aegir instead of the Prime Minister of Adrestia.

“You are not listening,” Marquis Vestra all but snapped. “All I am trying to say is that your husband has never claimed you were too demanding or particular or sharp-tongued, but has frequently expressed concern that he was not considerate enough of your wishes, since you assert yourself so infrequently. So it does surprise me that you claim to be outspoken.”

That was very strange. Bernadetta was a demanding wife, and she knew it. “I was too assertive just yesterday,” she said. “I told him I would not allow you in our house if you hurt my sister. This is his household, Marquis Vestra; if he wanted me to do this interview despite my objections, I would of course be at his command, as his wife. I am very fortunate that my husband indulges me when I get so demanding.”

“Oh, believe me, he told me what you said near twenty times,” Marquis Vestra told her. “He is endlessly proud of you. I was under the impression it was the first time you had asserted yourself to him in some time. So, was it an anomaly worth crowing about for half our midday meeting, or was it your normal type of behavior?”

Bernadetta remembered the way her heart had leapt into her throat when she made that demand of Ferdinand. He had barely flinched at her willingness to ban his friend -- his lover -- from his own house. “Well, regardless of how often I do it, Ferdinand does not challenge what I say. So it probably happens more often than either of us think about it, because my husband is so forgiving.”

“Well, then, do you find yourself holding your tongue over anything in this meeting?” Marquis Vestra asked. “I will not be offended; if I can withstand Ferdinand’s brashness, I can certainly withstand hearing about your discomfort.”

“I am fine,” Bernie told him, and smiled a bit.

“But you do know what ‘outspoken’ means, do you not?” the marquis clarified. “It means you speak out. It means you  _ say  _ that the coffee is not to your taste, or that my bearing is uncomfortable for you, or that your parents were cruel to you. I have watched you do nothing but hold your tongue since I got here, and while I am hardly surprised, I do hope we can stand on an equal footing regarding the basic definitions of words.”

He wasn’t glaring at her before, as it turned out. He had only been frowning. Now he was glaring. Resentment rose off of him like steam.

“I have only told you the truth,” Bernie told him. She tried not to raise her voice, but was certain she failed. “My father did not want Ferdinand to meet me because I am plain and unskilled, and knowing these things about me could have caused him or his father to call the marriage off. I am not proud of the circumstances of my marriage, Marquis Vestra. My father wanted me out of the line of succession, and I went. That is everything I know.” Her elbows were glued to her sides.

“Ah, so you do have a temper,” Marquis Vestra said. He looked relaxed, for some reason. “Good to know. You do know that Ferdinand does not let even one day pass without expounding on your beauty, right? I mean, you understand that your father lied to you to demoralize you?”

“My husband is very kind,” Bernadetta said. “What beauty I have is enough for him. It can be true that I am plain, that my father exaggerated my plainness, and that Ferdinand downplays my less attractive features, all at the same time. And all those things are true."

Marquis Vestra glanced up from his note pad, looked her up and down, and then said, "Ferdinand is besotted with you, so you will never stop being the most beautiful woman in the world to him, but if you must know, you are fairly average. You do not possess any great beauty, but neither do you lack for it. I must confess surprise that you still take your father's lessons to heart."

Bernie tried to stay smiling, to stay serene. She knew she failed. "My father's intent was to prepare me for any husband, even the worst of them. If Ferdinand was not the way he is, but was the sort of person my father tried to teach me to accommodate, it would be clear to you how unruly I am."

"Ah. Yes, I understand you now. Under what circumstances do you become… unruly?" Minister Vestra asked. “To be clear, I am not asking for my own personal interest, but to get a better measure of him for my investigation. If he…  _ did  _ anything to you…”

"He did many things," Bernie told him quietly. "The most memorable was when he tied me to a chair. My sisters were obedient, and would even sit on their own, and they would be done in half an hour or so. I would scream and thrash like an animal, and he would ignore me for hours before I either gave in or my mother begged him for sympathy. Ferdinand has never asked my silence, much less demanded it. If he were to test me in any way, he would quickly learn how insufficient I am as a wife."

Marquis Vestra was quiet for a very long time. Bernie was glad he knew she hated the coffee, so she didn't feel pressured to drink it to fill the time. At last he said, "There are options for you, Lady Aegir." His voice was very quiet and he looked dead serious.

Bernie looked down. “The things my father did were legal,” she pointed out. She had been to speak to a lawyer, but even if he could have helped, Ferdinand would have found out. She wouldn't be able to stand the shame, and what if Ferdinand treated her differently when he knew how awful she really was?

"There are additional options," Marquis Vestra insisted. "The sort that are available to my personal friends. Has your husband told you of the lengths I went to for Her Majesty before and during the war?"

Bernadetta shook her head.

Marquis Vestra took a deep breath in, almost like he was nervous. "My own father was not kinder than yours. He taught me that my liege's enemies were my own, and how to ensure she stayed safe. One way the path was cleared for her to become Emperor of Fódlan was that many who would have opposed her met with accidents before they ever came to the battlefield. Perhaps your father was one of those who knew about the child experimentation and perhaps he was not, but it would pain me to leave in place a man whose cruelty to children matched that of the late Duke of Aegir and Marquis of Vestra."

Did Ferdinand know his lover was a murderer? Assassination was assassination, she was pretty sure, even during wartime, and Marquis Vestra was not speaking of defeating people face-to-face in honorable battle. Bernadetta chose her words carefully, so she wouldn’t offend the man who was offering to murder her father. “You would be acting alone,” she told him. “I would not celebrate while I mourned.” Ferdinand still had nightmares about his father. The ones about his father’s cruelty and the ones about his father’s kindness troubled him equally.

“I am not seeking an answer today,” Marquis Vestra told her. “All I want is for you to understand that you have a powerful ally. Oh, also to deliver a message: your sisters say hello. I had a message this morning from one of my agents in Varley, and the messenger was glad to hear I could bring you their letters.” He flipped to the back of his notebook and pulled out two letters sealed in Varley purple. Bernadetta accepted them, looking over the seals to see if they had been opened before placing them on the table next to the coffee she no longer had to pretend to drink.

When she looked back at him, Minister Vestra was smiling. It looked wrong on his face. “Of course, coming from my hand, it would be impossible to tell if they had been opened and resealed, or even completely forged. It is refreshing to meet somebody who still checks, though. I would give you my word that both letters are what they seem, but sensible people tend not to trust my word.”

Bernadetta frowned. “Then what would be the point of resealing them?” she asked. “If a sealed letter gives no indication of being unread, then any letter must be considered opened, especially if you point it out as you hand me the letters.” It was unfortunate to have to doubt her first unread letters in a long time; she knew Father was in Enbarr and her sisters were in Varley, so he wouldn’t have been able to read and revise their writing. Mother often looked over their letters, but not always, and she seldom made them change anything, but from the frequency of their letters, Bernie suspected they had to pay the postage with their own pocket money.

“How do you know the history of any object?” Marquis Vestra challenged. “All you can do is stay suspicious. As it is, I have no reason to interfere with your letters."

How did Ferdinand ever become friends with this man? He was infuriating! She was beginning to understand why Ferdinand had loathed him during their time at school.

"Well, then I suppose I can still thank you for their fast delivery," Bernie told him, which wasn't untrue, but she still wondered how no one had strangled Marquis Vestra in frustration yet.

"You are most welcome," the marquis told her with a small smile. "My investigation there is mostly finished, but I will be sure to tell Ferdinand if I send anybody to Varley so you can write back easily."

Bernie said, "You are very kind, Marquis Vestra," even as she decided she would never trust her letters to him.

"I do not wish to ask intrusive questions, but with your permission, I would like to ask more about your… upbringing, and your father’s associates.” When Bernadetta nodded, he lost no time asking, “Did your father have friends who participated in your torture? If they were in the Seven, or even if they were close to other members of the Seven, it may be relevant."

Bernie shook her head. “Most of my father’s friends who I met were minor nobility from nearby holdings,” she said. “They knew what he did, but nobody actually helped him with it.” It almost felt like a good thing: they knew she belonged to her father absolutely, that she was being groomed for marriage. It kept her safe from unsavory treatment from anyone outside her family.

Marquis Vestra nodded and said, “I understand. And you knew little of his affairs in the city?”

“Yes. The Varley estate was his escape from the responsibility of being Minister of Religion. He never offered to bring us to Enbarr after he started working there.” And it was better that way. The streets of Enbarr weren’t haunted by bad experiences when she married Ferdinand. She could experience the City as someplace new and exciting, except for a couple nostalgic places.

She heard the front door open. Marquis Vestra said, “If Miss Varley was being trained to take over from him, did you ever overhear them discussing his responsibilities as Minister of Religion?”

Bernadetta hid her smile behind a hand. “I fear you misinterpreted my words,” she told him when she’d regained control of her face. “My sister will be the next Countess of Varley, but her husband will be the next Minister of Religion. She can learn everything she needs to know from our mother.”

“That is ludicrous,” the marquis told her flatly, and then looked toward the doorway and said, “Ah, Ferdinand. Come tell your wife that her family’s priorities defy all logic.”

“I make a habit of not insulting my family,” Ferdinand said amiably, walking into the parlor. “Good afternoon, Bernadetta, Hubert. Are things going well?”

“I, at least, am nearly done here,” Marquis Vestra told him. “We were only clarifying a few details. The Varley family appears to be living in the eleventh century.”

Ferdinand sat down to Bernadetta’s left and asked, “What on Earth is he talking about?”

“Lines of succession,” Marquis Vestra cut in before Bernie could speak. “Did you know Miss Varley is unlikely to inherit her father’s Ministry title?”

Ferdinand just smiled and said, “Hubert. I told you to interview Bernadetta for a reason. Did you think I intended to waste both of your time? Also, where is the tea?”

Right! Ferdinand was home; of course he would want tea. But he seemed to be talking to Marquis Vestra.

“Did you pressure Bernadetta into drinking coffee? After I  _ told  _ you she prefers fruity drinks?” Ferdinand continued. “Honestly, Hubert, the manners on you.” He stood to leave, his wavy hair flashing golden in the light of the parlor windows, muttering, “All mind tricks and no consideration.” Marquis Vestra smiled as he watched Ferdinand leave, but then he looked at Bernie again. Interesting.

“I must say, I am entirely fascinated by the reasoning behind enduring such abuse for such a pittance,” Marquis Vestra told her. “Miss Varley will still be the inheritor of the county, right? Or will that also go to her husband?”

“What can one person in a marriage own that the other does not?” Bernie asked. “Am I not the Duchess of Aegir now that Ferdinand is the Duke? Do we not share the benefits and responsibilities of his land?”

The sound of Ferdinand’s boots came back toward the parlor.

“But what could possibly be the incentive for marrying under those circumstances?” Marquis Vestra asked as Ferdinand returned.

“There will be tea in a few minutes,” Ferdinand told them, and took Bernie’s hand and kissed it. “Your favorite fruit blend.” He looked at Marquis Vestra and added, cheerfully, “Hubert, if you refuse to mind your manners around my wife, I will have to ask you to leave for today. And what was that about lines of inheritance? Do you think I am unaware of my own family’s intentions after seven years?”

“And you have no objections?” The look Marquis Vestra was shooting Ferdinand was positively poisonous, no fancy potions required.

“I have several objections. You may have forgotten this after your years of meddling, Hubert, but despite being the Prime Minister of Adrestia, I am not actually the Count of Varley, and the decisions made about his lands and titles can only be influenced by me to the extent that I can convince the current Count to make more sensible decisions. Perhaps you were unable to tell by our argument at the last Cabinet meeting, but he despises me.” He turned to Bernadetta, still cheerful, and said, “You need not worry about Hubert’s tone; he has been like this since we met. I have started to suspect he just enjoys the push-back.”

To Bernie’s shock, Marquis Vestra leaned toward her and conspiratorially told her, “You deserve a medal for putting up with this for seven years. Has Ferdinand ever had a single ounce of subtlety in him?”

“No fair, pitting my wife against me,” Ferdie laughed as Bernadetta tried to stammer out a non-answer. He took Bernie’s hand and added, “She has my letters from when I was sixteen, Hubert; who is truly himself when he is only sixteen?”

“Yes, I heard they were very embarrassing,” Marquis Vestra taunted. “She said you asked incessantly to--”

“I certainly did not use that wording, and I would thank you to keep our conversation private, Marquis Vestra,” Bernie interrupted, her voice loud enough to surprise him into silence.

The marquis drained his cup, set it down in its saucer, and stood, saying, “I believe I risk overstaying my welcome if I stay much longer. I will consolidate my notes, but likely will not need anything more from you, Lady Aegir.” He bowed to her and started to leave.

“I never meant to snap,” Bernie told him. “I apologize. Of course you can stay if you like.”

Marquis Vestra smiled one of his less creepy smiles at her and said, “I know I unsettle you. I will return if I have any inconsistencies or contradictions to check up on.” His eyes flicked to her husband and he said, “Ferdinand, are you still available Thursday, the usual time?”

“I have been looking forward to it,” Ferdie told him. “Perhaps I should set out tea and snacks and nothing else, see how it suits you?”

“Do you think you could without apologizing?” Marquis Vestra asked, lingering to the side of the couch.

Ferdie clutched his chest and fell back a bit onto Bernie, yelling, “Oh! Hubert, you wound me! You have struck me to my core! How shall I recover?”

“By serving me tea without apologizing,” Marquis Vestra told him, smirking. He locked eyes with Bernie and nodded to her. “Good day, both of you. Lady Aegir, you have my deepest respect for putting up with Ferdinand day in and day out.”

And then he was gone with the sharp click of leather boots and the soft sound of fabric as he retrieved his jacket.

And then Ferdinand’s arm was warm and solid around her shoulders and he asked, “How did your conversation really go? Did he upset you at all?”

“Only as much as I am upset by discussing my father,” Bernie told him. “Thank you for not mentioning the reason he hates you.”

Ferdie kissed the side of her head and said, “Of course. It would hardly be relevant to events that happened when we were so young. Hubert knows I will not vouch for your father’s character, and that is as much as he needs to know from me.”

Bernie debated whether she should tell her husband more about the conversation, but settled on, “I never did tell him my father is banned from our house without invitation. But I think he has enough of the events that led to that decision.”

“I know that recalling those times is difficult for you,” Ferdinand told her. She appreciated the way he kept a respectful distance from her pain. “A good cup of your favorite tea will help. We can toast your bravery together.”

Bernie ducked her head, smiling from embarrassment. “It was hardly brave of me,” she lied. “Everything I recalled was in the past. But you are very sweet and considerate.”

“Ah, here is the tea!” Ferdinand told her. As a maid walked in and placed an appropriately seasonal tea service on the table and started putting the coffee pot and cups back on her tray, he added, “You know I understand how powerful memories can be, Bernadetta. Hubert’s business frequently involves painful memories; it is his curse that he could never be satisfied in any other field. It is entirely normal to be sensitive to such things.” He poured two cups of tea and handed Bernie one.

Bernadetta took a small sip of the steaming tea, enough to taste it without burning her mouth, to bide her time until the maid was gone. Then she said, “Am I right in suspecting that this was partly a ploy to introduce us?” and put her cup and saucer back down on the table.

“I have never been subtle,” Ferdinand admitted easily. “Though, in fairness, he was the one who offered. Since you always evade him at larger events, he hoped a more intimate setting would put you at ease.”

He spoke the words easily, with no guilt or fear. So it was a done deal. Nothing Bernadetta did could change her husband's relationship with his lover. He wasn't asking permission; he was informing her of his relationship. "How long have the two of you been attached?" she asked, trying to sound calm.

"It built slowly," Ferdie told her. "You remember: at the Academy, and early on in the War, we caused each other no end of frustration. But his dedication to his principles is part of what makes me admire him. By the end of the War, we already shared tea and coffee weekly."

Bernadetta didn't know what she felt. Her husband had openly admitted to having a lover. She couldn't even feel angry, not really, not when Ferdinand seemed so much more animated with Marquis Vestra, so happy when he talked about him. She felt like there was a cavern under her ribcage where her heart was supposed to go, big and empty and gaping.

"You are not asking permission," she said, which was clear from Ferdinand's tone. "Are you asking my approval? I will need some time to give it." She didn't fight losing battles. But she would have liked to know at the start, not over a year after the affair had begun. Her eyes overflowed.

"Wha-- Bernadetta? Approval for what? What did I do?" Ferdinand tried to brush her hair behind her ear and she shook his hand off. She didn't want to be touched by the hands that would explore Marquis Vestra's body on Thursday, if not earlier.

"Marquis Vestra is not kind, but he is a good man," Bernie conceded. "I know I can be difficult--"

"Bernie, I do not follow you."

"I know I can be difficult," she told him again, "so I understand why you would want to stray. But it still hurts to hear about. Please just give me some time to think this through."

"Bernie, what are you saying?" Ferdinand asked.  _ What, did he think this would be easy? _ she thought. "Why would I stray when I have such an amazing wife? And what would Hubert have to do with that?"

"You just told me he is your lover," she reminded him. "There is no--"

"That is certainly not what I meant!" Ferdinand exclaimed, and jumped up, almost hitting the coffee table and spilling their tea. "I am-- Bernadetta, why would you think that of me?"

"I am not much, as a wife," Bernie started.

"No. No, you don't get to say that now. Bernadetta, what have I done? Have I not insisted for years that you are everything I want in a wife? Have I not acted in a way that reinforces my words? This is no small misunderstanding, Bernadetta; it wounds me deeply that you would think me capable of such a betrayal." His voice shook. He was loud, nearly yelling, but it would be hard to make her feel smaller than she already did.

"You come alive around him," she said, not looking at her husband. "You looked so joyful. And so did he." A fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes.

"We are friends," Ferdinand insisted. "I wanted you to meet my friend because he is very dear to me. What types of cruelty do you think I am capable of, to brazenly introduce my lover to my own wife?"

She thought of her father tying her to the chair, struggling to keep it upright as she threw her weight around and screamed like a dying animal. She thought of Marquis Vestra offering to kill him after one conversation. She said, "I do not pretend to know what men are capable of."

"I did not ask you about men," Ferdie yelled. "I asked you about me! Me, your Ferdinand! Why are you acting like we have only just met?"

Bernie tried to think her way through a response, but her brain was clouded. She tried to blink back some of her tears, even knowing it would do little, and said, "You tell him a different story about me than you tell your other friends." He told Hubert about her inadequacy, her inability to give needed opinions.

"Because we are close," Ferdinand told her. "Because he listens well and gives good insights. And I brag about you to him, did he tell you that? I share all of your triumphs with him until our teatime is up. I have often told him what a shame it is that he will never marry as well as me. Bernie, what must a man do to place himself above suspicion if my devotion to you has not been sufficient?"

There were a lot of parts of Bernie that were broken. She knew this about herself, but did everything she could to keep the broken parts hidden, with varying degrees of success. Ferdinand, in his anger, had hit on a part that broke when her uncle died. She had a few of those.

"I… am not sure I can believe anyone to be above suspicion," she told him quietly. “Especially when just a short conversation with him made you come alive. And you had the same impact on him, Ferdinand. Please believe me: I do want you to be happy. But I also selfishly want you to myself.”

“As I want  _ you  _ to myself!” Ferdinand told her fiercely. Yelled, really. There was no doubt that he was still angry. Even at his angriest, somehow she was never afraid he would hurt her. “As is natural! Because we are married! How could I desire anybody else when you are my wife?”

“How can I believe all the kind things you say about me when they are so obviously untrue?” Bernie asked. She was at her own breaking point. “Seven years of you calling me beautiful and talented and everything else, and I have never in all that time made your eyes light up the way he did in two minutes!”

“Bernadetta… Bernie, look at me?” She looked up. She was too angry to be afraid. Ferdinand’s eyes blazed with-- something.

“The feelings I have for you are completely different from the feelings I have for him,” he told her. “One reason for that is that I am in love with you and friends with him. Another is that you are simply different people. Your whole demeanor is gentle and quiet, and I have cultivated a deep appreciation for the ways you express yourself. I married you when I was barely more than a boy, but I have renewed my devotion to you every day since then. You soften me, Bernadetta. It is a quality that I cherish.

“I could not react to you the same way I do to Hubert because he is a completely different person,” Ferdinand continued. “He is all sharp edges, and secret tests, and poisonous words. It took a very long time for him to even be tolerable to me, and now our custom is to gently snipe at each other. If I treated you the way I treat him, I daresay you would think I despised you. We stoke the fire of competition in each other, but not of passion. That, I save only for you.”

“Does he often comment on your appearance?” Bernie asked. Perhaps it was something they were accustomed to chiding each other over.

Ferdinand laughed a little nervously. “He tried to bring you into that?” he asked. “Yes, he is constantly reminding me how impractical my hair is.”

“He said the opposite to me,” Bernie told him, not even angry anymore, just confused. “He told me to ask you to keep it long.” She felt herself blush as she said, “He called it your ‘only interesting feature,’ which I suppose fits with your habit of insulting each other.”

Ferdinand smiled and said, “Yes, exactly so. If I cut it, he would be entirely unable to insult it. You see? Even he knew, instinctively, that you are a person who needs the truth directly, not veiled behind silly ruses. He is a better judge of character than he was when we were teenagers, but if he had not been so miserably rude to me then, perhaps we would not be so close now.” He leaned over to kiss Bernie above her ear. “Are your doubts quelled, Bernie?”

Bernadetta nodded. She still felt the echoes of her feelings, but they would subside. “And I apologize,” she told him, staring intently at the fabric covering her knees. “It is exactly as I said: I have difficulty thinking of any man as being above suspicion. Even you, when you have only been kind and forgiving to me these seven years.”

Ferdinand took her hand in his. He looked upset as he said, “Sometimes, I wonder if I should do more than ban your father from our house,” but his voice was calm again. "I would duel him for you in a second if you asked."

Bernie blushed and smiled. Ferdie was sweet, but so overeager. "He gave you my hand," she reminded him. "To be yours forever. What more could you ask from him?"

"Your health," Ferdie said quietly, and gently turned her face toward his and kissed her. "Your safety," he said, and kissed her again. He leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed together and told her, "I would like to go back in time and take you from him before he did such terrible things that you cannot speak of them."

"I was able to tell Marquis Vestra what he did," she told him. "Or, one example, anyway. He seemed to understand that it was not one incident, and that is enough." And offer to kill her father. That was still… a bit overwhelming.

"I had hoped you would," Ferdie said, which calmed her worry that he would think she trusted his… friend… more than she trusted him. "He is remarkably easy to talk to, is he not, when he tries to be? He sits quietly and lets you run your mouth, and it makes you feel he is an anonymous observer instead of the Minister of the Imperial Household. He has gotten rather a lot of horse gossip from me that way."

"With Pfefferneuse, anyone could get a lot of horse gossip from you," Bernie pointed out. "She may be the nosiest horse I have ever met. If you told me she was running a stable-boy gambling ring, my only question would be where she got the chips."

"The finest animal I own," Ferdie said, and Bernadetta got the feeling he was agreeing with her, not contradicting her. "A horse smart enough to obey and disobey at sensible times is truly a blessing."

"I thank her frequently for returning you home safe to me," Bernie admitted. "But I will still say: pulling horse gossip from you is hardly a feat. It flows freely with such a mischievous horse."

With more light conversation, Bernadetta was able to pull away from the previous topic. She enjoyed a cup of tea with her husband as they re-established the comfort of their relationship, and then she retired to her room to rest before dinner and read her sisters’ letters.

In her room, she wrote a letter, which she stamped with a sliver of purple wax over the rust red of House Aegir, leaving no doubt that the letter was hers alone.

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert woke in the morning feeling half-rested. It was his own fault for the hours he kept, but his department was so new under Emperor Edelgard that it was hard to delegate.

After he dressed and washed his face, he started the morning with a cup of coffee, toast and eggs, and a first review of the day's letters, as usual.

He sorted them by seal. Normal letters were compiled into reports by his subordinates, of course, but some of them needed a special touch, which he could provide. He tossed them into piles one-handed as he ate his breakfast.

By far, the most unusual letter of the day was the one with  _ Marquis Hubert von Vestra _ written in flowing cursive across the back. He received vanishingly few pieces of personal correspondence aside from long-winded letters from his aunts, who thought they knew better than he did how he should go about finding a wife, because clearly that was his first priority.

This letter, on closer inspection, did not bear normal red sealing wax, but the subtle orange tinge of House Aegir, and the Aegir seal besides. It was marked with a small bit of Varley purple, so Lady Aegir was probably the one with the fine hand that had written his name like the title of something, since he had worked with Ferdinand long enough to know he wasn't capable of decent calligraphy without a great effort.

Hubert didn't get many personal letters. He opened it immediately, the seal snapping neatly in half.

_ Dear Marquis Vestra, _

_ Thank you for coming to interview me today. I hope I was able to clarify or confirm some things for you about my father. Since you left, I have thought of a question for you. _

_ I do not mean to accuse you of anything, only to clarify for myself what your relationship is with my husband. When you spoke to him, it was easy to remember you are both young men in your mid-twenties despite the titles that I know weigh both of you down. You both came alive, even just for a few moments. _

_ Perhaps I am reading too much into things. Ferdinand assures me I am, but Ferdinand is always full of reassurances. You know how kind he is. I would not have thought him capable of straying from me, but I know you will understand, after our conversation today, why I sometimes feel doubts about my ability to hold his interest. If there is anything beyond friendly conversation between you and Ferdinand, I cannot say it would be a surprise, but I do ask that you tell me gently. I love him very dearly. _

_ I know you have little reason to disclose anything to me if there really is anything between you and Ferdinand, but please know that I would not interrupt your relationship. You obviously make Ferdinand very happy, and I could not bring myself to ruin his happiness, even for my own selfish sake. I would only like to have the information at my disposal so I know where I stand with both of you. If you are only his friend, then I would like to thank you for being such a dear friend to him and for making the effort to get to know me despite my shyness. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Bernadetta von Aegir _

It was something out of a bad novel, but the duchess’ sincerity shone through. The woman Hubert had met yesterday, who could hardly look at him and wouldn’t stand up for herself even to get a pot of tea in her own house while Hubert enjoyed some coffee, wasn’t the type to write a letter like that just to stir up drama.

Well, she could have been. People had many faces, as Hubert was well aware. But if Bernadetta von Aegir was strong-willed or meddling in any way, it had certainly eluded Ferdinand for over seven years, and Hubert hadn’t noticed it when they spoke. The only times she’d gotten more spirited during their conversation were when she was embarrassed.

Such a letter deserved a response. It should also probably be shown to Ferdinand, but only after swearing him to absolute secrecy. Ferdinand was a fool in love, and it seemed his wife was, as well, and it wouldn’t do for them both to try so hard to put the other’s interests ahead of their own.

The response she needed would require careful consideration. Hubert folded the letter and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and then continued sorting his letters.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta received the day’s letters in the late morning. She had sent her letter to Marquis Vestra on Tuesday and was glad to receive a response Thursday morning. It didn’t guarantee that he hadn’t shown the letter to Ferdinand, but it did imply as much. Her name in passable calligraphy on a letter bearing the deep green Vestra seal made her heart jump into her throat. She promised herself that she wouldn’t be disappointed no matter what the letter contained, but she still locked herself in her room and set an hour aside to read it.

_ Dear Lady Aegir, _

_ It was my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under such fraught circumstances. I have long wanted to meet the woman Ferdinand is so in love with, and not the shrinking violet I met on scant few occasions at the Academy. _

_ Lady Aegir, I will be frank with you: your husband has the temperament of a spaniel. He could never be anything but devoted to you. He lies at your feet, awaiting any command or praise from your lips. Your fear is entirely reasonable, considering your background, but it is founded in the world you lived in as a girl and not the world you live in now. _

_ I implore you to value yourself more highly. As we all learned in the War, there are many things worth fighting for, and I hope you will come to see that your own dignity is worth defending. You have a great wealth of good qualities, despite what you were taught, and Ferdinand sees them clearly, even if he does tend to see them through rose-tinted glasses. There is a special light that comes into his eyes only when he talks about you, and I would hate to see it extinguished. _

_ I must admit that I feel closer to Ferdinand than to my other close friends, but it is an intimacy born of facing our mortality together and of being thrust so young into two of the most senior positions in Adrestia. We are each conscious of where the other stands with regards to the importance of our citizens. Our respect for each other has grown as we matured, but there is no risk it will turn into the type of relationship you are worried about. _

_ With greatest sincerity, _

_ Hubert von Vestra _

The letter should have satisfied her. It would have satisfied a reasonable person.

Bernadetta had never been a reasonable person.

She couldn’t shake the memory of Marquis Vestra asking her to encourage Ferdie to keep his hair long. She couldn’t help reading into his sentence about the light in Ferdinand’s eyes.

She had set aside an hour to read the letter, but she stayed in her room for an hour and a half.


	12. The Confession, First Day at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert tells Ferdinand about Bernadetta's letter. On further discussion of her talents and self-esteem, Hubert realizes her particular set of talents may be uniquely useful to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that really sets up the chain reaction that is this story's plot. I'm so excited to share it with you!
> 
> There's a coded letter about halfway through and I just want to apologize in advance for the way it's going to get messed up on phones. There was no better way to do it. I'm so sorry. The line breaks are necessary. Please know that I share your pain because I edited it on my phone.

Hubert arrived at the little garden table they customarily used just when the tea and coffee were finished brewing. “Ah, you are right on time!” Ferdinand told him when he heard the crunch of gravel. “A few moments later and you would have been late.” He poured Hubert’s coffee and his own tea and gestured to Hubert’s usual seat as he sat down.

“I am afraid I will need to start our meeting off with some slightly sour news,” Hubert told him.

“Oh, come now, Hubert; you seem convinced that all of your news is sour. Have some coffee and do not  _ worry  _ so much.” He nudged the tray of sandwiches toward his friend; Hubert never took proper care of himself.

Hubert quickly removed his gloves and tucked them into a pocket. His fingers were stained yellow as well as black today, giving them a weirdly swampy, jaundiced look, but they moved delicately as ever as he put some sandwiches on his plate. They had agreed several months ago, after Ferdinand had mistaken red ink for blood, that they would not discuss the state of Hubert’s hands unless there was a more substantial reason for concern than the color.

“Unfortunately, I do expect this news to upset you,” Hubert said, so Ferdinand removed his own gloves and loaded a scone with jam and cream to prepare himself.

“What has Liecester done this time?” he asked, dreading the conversation to come.

“Nothing to do with Liecester,” Hubert assured him. “We can discuss Liecester at our other meetings. I am speaking of the unrest I unwittingly sowed in your household.” He pulled a letter from his inside breast pocket and put it in front of Ferdinand.

The letter bore Bernadetta’s seal: the Aegir seal and wax with a small ribbon of Varley purple melted on top. Even broken, it was instantly recognizable. Ferdinand reached for the letter.

“Before you read it, I need your assurance you will not discuss it with your wife,” Hubert told him as soon as he touched it. “I know you think I have little regard for people’s reputations, but it was clear even back at the Academy that Lady Aegir is a good woman and I will not disrupt the tranquility of your household without reason.”

Hubert looked upset, even sick, and Ferdinand couldn’t think of a reason he would be so distraught to share a letter from Bernadetta. So he said, “I promise. She will never hear that I saw this letter.” What could she even write to Hubert that would be so disturbing? In the past five years, the only time they had talked for more than a few seconds was on Tuesday.

He took a bite of his scone and then opened and read the letter.

He no longer felt hungry when he looked up at Hubert, who was glaring at his plate as he nibbled on a ham sandwich.

Hubert glanced up and said, “I did warn you that it would upset you.”

Nothing he could say to Hubert seemed sufficient. He wanted to go to his wife, but of course that would give away the fact that he had read her letter, and he had a meeting after teatime, besides.

“After you left, she was acting strangely,” he told Hubert. “She asked me questions about you and your visit, which of course I answered readily. Somehow, you left her with the impression that you were my lover. I… handled her accusations badly. But I cannot think how a man could handle such an accusation gracefully without any preparation. Have you responded?”

Hubert nodded. “Of course. I would never leave such a sincere letter unanswered. But I must admit that you are impressively dense for such a successful Prime Minister.”

Ferdinand frowned. “What am I missing?” he asked. “If this is one of your forgeries, Hubert, I--”

“It is no forgery,” Hubert told him, rolling his eyes. “I mean the two of us. You really are dense as a brick on romantic matters that do not concern your wife.”

Ferdie frowned. Hubert was prickly, but usually not like this. “I fail to see what you mean,” he told his friend. “Would you care to enlighten me instead of taunting me with vague allusions to your meaning?”

Hubert pinched the bridge of his nose and the charred and jaundiced look of his fingers stood out against the creamy skin of his face.

At last, Hubert looked up at him and said, “Ferdinand, I believe congratulations are in order. Truly, well done. You have managed to be the last person in Adrestian high society, including your famously reclusive wife, to notice that I have been hopelessly besotted with you for over a year. Bravo. We will have to figure out a last-place trophy for you.”

Ferdinand noticed his mouth hanging open and closed it, but only a few seconds after Hubert made his confession. When he could speak again, he asked, “Why tell me now?”

_ “Because your wife is suspicious,” _ Hubert hissed. “Because she is a good woman who deserves better than her husband thinking her fears are based on nothing at all. And because it is, frankly, absolutely shocking that you have not caught on yet. Flames, Ferdinand, I know you have difficulty picking up on things that are not said plainly, but when the notoriously prickly Minister of the Imperial Household personally prepares you a pot of his least favorite beverage, it should not be so difficult to see that he feels something more than simple  _ friendship  _ for you.”

Ferdinand sat straight-backed in his wicker chair. He took a sip of tea to buy himself some time to think over his words. Then he looked up at Hubert and said, “I must apologize. I did not mean to encourage any feelings like that in you. I regret that I have nothing to offer you; you know nothing can come of this.”

“Of course nothing can come of it,” Hubert snapped. “If it could, I would have mentioned it earlier.” He had a sip of coffee and added, “It changes nothing about our relationship. You are the same Ferdinand you were yesterday, and I am the same Hubert. This is not some schoolgirl confession; I am attempting to do damage control for you because you are incapable of doing it yourself.”

“I will keep this information in the greatest confidence,” Ferdinand promised. “Thank you for giving me the context I lacked.” His brain and heart were going in eccentric circles trying to figure out how he felt about this development, and if he even  _ needed _ to feel anything about it.

Hubert nodded and said, “Yes. Well.” He breathed deeply and then seemed entirely back to normal as he said, “Also, I have had another letter from my aunt Clara. She is impressively determined to see me engaged by the end of the year.” He reached across the table and took the letter, re-folded it, and put it back in his jacket pocket. Had a sip of coffee like things were normal.

“Wait. Hubert. I certainly do not mean to push you away. We can discuss this.” Ferdinand was certainly not such a child that he would push his best friend away just for admitting something like that.

“To what end?” Hubert asked. “I told you something about myself. Now you know it. What do we have to discuss?”

“Well, for a start, is that why you never married? Are you the type who could only marry in Brigid?” How had they gotten so close without Ferdinand knowing anything about that side of Hubert?

Hubert smirked and told him, “I am unmarried because I was launched straight from a continental war to a senior ministry position and my work takes up more hours than I have in a day while I try to find trustworthy replacements for the bureaucrats who worked under my father. Probably also because of the hair. You flatter yourself, Ferdinand.”

“Are there any women you fancy?” Ferdie pushed, smiling. “You  _ are  _ aware you are a catch, are you not? Youngest Minister of the Imperial Household in centuries, Marquis of Vestra, the Emperor's closest confidante, an accomplished mage…”

“I would thank you to stop,” Hubert told him shortly. “We both know I unsettle people, particularly women. Any woman who stayed attracted to me once we had talked about my interests would have to be similarly unusual.”

“Similarly exceptional,” Ferdinand corrected him, smiling. “But, Hubert, have we not met a whole group of exceptional women, just by chance, when we went to the Officers’ Academy? You will certainly find someone who sees you for who you are when you begin your search in earnest. And, in the meantime, do not feel bad for writing your aunts with excuses. I would rather have a functional Ministry of the Imperial Household than see you married before twenty-seven. As long as you understand the need to make time for yourself, and you are working to get that time, there is certainly no problem with hard work."

“Easy enough to say when you have never felt the same pressure yourself,” Hubert sniped. “In my more cynical moments, I wish for the type of marriage you had. Just throw up my hands and say: well, I suppose we are stuck together forever now and will need to make this work out.”

“That certainly is cynical,” Ferdie agreed. Perhaps Hubert was losing more sleep than he’d realized. “And completely misinformed, besides. An arranged marriage is plenty of work, and beginning one when you find yourself swamped from work would be a disaster.”

“Your marriage was something of an anomaly,” Hubert told him. “You know more of Lady Aegir’s history now, so surely you understand why your path was more fraught.” He refilled his cup with coffee.

“You are determined not to be convinced,” Ferdinand accused his friend. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“I slept enough,” Hubert said, which wasn’t a real answer.

“Ah, yes, that classic refrain from the War,” Ferdie ribbed. “I did enjoy the way Linhardt’s eyes bugged out when you told him three hours of sleep was sufficient for you. I almost believed Edelgard was going to murder you herself. Did you wake this morning feeling rested?” He knew the answer. He started preparing a scone to add to the sandwiches languishing on Hubert’s plate.

Hubert raked a hand through his hair and said, “I could go on holiday for a month and not feel rested until I’ve had my coffee. You know this about me.”

“You need to rest,” Ferdie told his friend. His  _ best  _ friend, who he wanted to keep safe. “And, in the meantime, you need to eat; two cups of coffee and half a tea sandwich is not a meal, Hubert.” He reached across the table to place a scone, with jam and cream on both halves instead of sandwiched between, on Hubert’s plate.

“Yes, and to hell with our information networks,” Hubert snapped. “How many people do you know who you would trust with Adrestia’s most confidential secrets? Because I have four. Four good people and myself. I am working on this problem. I cannot simply set some clever, untrustworthy person on ciphers as if they were unable to read the decoded message the cipher contains. It is inescapable. The words and numbers turn in my head every second of every day. I am not unaware that I am approaching my limit, Ferdinand, but just yesterday, I learned that someone I was considering for an upper-level position has a significant gambling problem, which is possibly one of the most easily exploited weaknesses.”

The general stress and lack of sleep explained Hubert’s tetchiness much more effectively than a crush. Ferdinand had no great wealth of people he could spare, but at least  _ some  _ of his staff had come to him from the previous regime. Lawyers were less loyal than spies, as it turned out, and the shift from Ionius IX to Edelgard I had barely changed their job.

Would they be trustworthy as decipherers and spymasters, though? Ferdinand couldn’t think of any of his senior staff who he trusted with Adrestia’s secrets the way he trusted Hubert or Edelgard.

“I shall have to help you mull this over, then,” Ferdinand told his friend. “If your deciphering is taking up so much of your time, we will soon be without a spymaster regardless of your wishes. But I will say again: eat something, Hubert. There is no reason for this matter to take a greater toll on your health than necessary.”

Hubert took another bite of the sandwich he’d started on, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“Oh, and I had interesting news from my wife,” Ferdinand added. He grinned, thinking about how well he’d be able to tease his friend. “She said you spoke to her about my hair. It sounded like quite the opposite of what you say to me. So which is it? Do you like it long or short?” Was it cruel to ask such a question? He would have asked it even if Hubert had said nothing of his feelings.

Hubert looked down at his plate and picked up the first half of his scone, glaring at it like the pastry could do anything about his situation. “It is horrifically distracting,” the marquis murmured. He looked up, glaring at Ferdinand despite the blush that rose high and red on his cheeks, and added, “Walking around looking like some sort of  _ sun god, _ as if you were a player instead of the Prime Minister of Adrestia. Really, Ferdinand.”

Ferdie laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I do not believe I have ever received such a wholehearted compliment,” he told his friend. “And it is especially refreshing coming from you. I shall have to keep it long, then, if it suits me so well.” He fluffed his hair out so it spread over the backs of his shoulders.

“I never thought you to be such a flirt,” Hubert told him, and took a bite of his scone.

“I am not above small bouts of vanity,” Ferdie pointed out. “And Bernie seems to like this length well enough.” He softened his voice and added, “I apologize if she was cold to you because of her misperception. You understand, surely, why she takes some time to warm up to men, no matter how honorable.”

Hubert said, “She was entirely cordial,” but he didn’t sound like he was done speaking. Ferdinand took a bite from a sandwich while he waited for his friend to continue. “I saw why you worry after her, though. Did you know she believes herself incurably outspoken?”

Ferdinand smiled tightly. “Yes, that sounds like her,” he agreed. “She is five kinds of genius, Hubert, but she values herself so low. You have seen her art, read her poetry…” He touched his breast pocket, where he still kept her engagement gift under his pocket square. “She has even helped me with legal matters before. She has a way of seeing things that is helpful.”

“You discuss your work with Bernadetta?” Hubert asked, and Ferdinand didn’t like the use of her first name. Hubert had perked up, looking like a predator ready to go for the kill, focused in a way he seldom looked during tea.

Ferdinand waved a hand dismissively. “It is no great matter,” he told his friend. “She is as loyal as we are, Hubert; if you remember, before we had even attacked Garreg Mach, she found us a way into Varley. And most of my work is no great secret; it all becomes public soon enough.”

“You missed my meaning,” Hubert told him, his eyes still focused on Ferdie with a burning intensity, almost a hunger. “Of course she is loyal beyond question. But do you think she could learn to cipher?”

Ferdinand laughed. “Become one of yours? Oh, Hubert, you  _ must  _ be short on sleep. Bernadetta is hardly spy handling material.”

“Is her personality not an excellent cover?” Hubert asked. He stood and started pacing. “We both know she can keep a secret. You have been her husband almost seven years, and she told me in five minutes what she kept from you all that time, simply because she believed it would help her. She is observant, with sound judgement, or I would not have been forced to confess to you today. Her salon trusts her judgement about writing, so she must have  _ some  _ ability to summarize and understand subtext from the written word.” He leaned over the back of the chair he’d abandoned and said, “Discuss it with her, please, and if she is interested, have her write to me in cipher. Any cipher.” He sat down with an energy about him that Ferdinand hadn’t seen for many months and gestured to Ferdinand with a sandwich he’d grabbed off his plate. “This could work out beautifully, Ferdinand. Elegantly. I might be able to get some  _ sleep.” _

Ferdinand smiled gently, hoping he hadn’t raised his friend’s hopes too high. “I will ask her,” he told Hubert. “I make no promises, and you may wake to a scathing, accusatory letter in her hand in a few days, but there is certainly no harm in asking.”

.-._.-._.-._

On Sunday morning, Hubert received a letter. He received a great many letters, actually, as usual, but it was Sunday when he received the letter he’d been waiting for.

He was sorting his letters at breakfast, in his usual style, when he came across one sealed with Lady Aegir’s personal seal. He smiled, hoping it would be an acceptance, but looking forward to a refusal just as readily because he had witnessed her anger firsthand and was certain it would come across even more impressively in writing. This time, he waited until he was in his study to open her letter.

_ Dear Marquis Vestra, _ it read,

_ I was surprised to hear from my husband today that you were considering me for _

_ a position in the Ministry of the Imperial Household. You must understand that I am not _

_ comfortable managing the sort of people you work with. If you would like my help, I _

_ could assist you in vetting your assistants, or offer some other support, but it seems an _

_ exceptional show of nepotism and entitlement that you would even consider me for this _

_ position. Please leave Ferdinand out of your employee hunt. _

_ Thank you, but no thank you, _

_ Bernadetta von Aegir _

Hubert read the letter again. It was rude, but not as rude as he would expect from someone so famously well-written. He read over the letter two more times and smiled.

.-._.-._.-._

"You will tell me if he upsets you?" Ferdie asked for probably the fortieth time in the carriage on the way to the Palace.

"I will," Bernie promised serenely. "But I also think he only acted so rudely before because it helped him learn what sort of person I am. Keeping me uncomfortable would hardly help me learn his codes."

"Yell at him from me if he fails to offer you tea," Ferdinand said with a wink, and then kissed her hand.

Bernie leaned against his shoulder and said, "It was very clear, when we met, that he only looks and acts the way he does so that people will react to him a certain way. Knowing that makes him much less intimidating." He was sweet to worry, though. She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.

It was slightly embarrassing when, after they arrived, Ferdinand walked her to Marquis Vestra's office himself, as if she needed an escort. But he was clearly worried for her, so she allowed it.

"Ferdinand," Marquis Vestra said when they walked together into his office. Bernie was almost surprised that it was a normal office, with a few bookshelves, a moderately imposing desk, and only sheer curtains over the windows. There was a rug on the floor and two inviting chairs in front of the desk, and one comfortable-looking chair behind it. "I believe my appointment was with Lady Aegir. Do you have any business with me?"

Ferdinand paused for a moment, then bowed to kiss her hand. "Lunch at 12:30?" he confirmed.

"Yes. Now, you go wrangle some lawyers. I will be perfectly fine on my own,” Bernie promised, and gave his hand a little squeeze.

Marquis Vestra flicked his hand at Ferdinand like a fly and said, “Shoo. We have a great deal to accomplish and I will not have you distracting my student.”

Ferdinand bowed to them both and left.

“He has been worrying about me,” Bernie told the marquis, smiling awkwardly from embarrassment as the marquis walked around his desk toward her. “His concern has very little basis, as far as I can tell.”

Marquis Vestra held his hand out to her as if he expected her to shake it. “You may call me Hubert if I can call you Bernadetta,” he told her. “Titles can get cumbersome when working in such a close capacity. Does that sound amenable to you?”

The contrast between his severe hair and gentle smile was almost comical. Bernie readily shook his hand and said, “It sounds entirely amenable, Hubert. I have been looking forward to learning real ciphers.”

"You know, technically, you did not write to me in a cipher," he told her, which made her worry he was about to tell her to go home again. "I figured a code probably feels the same to someone inexperienced, though. Have a seat and tell me why you wrote it the way you did.”

They sat down, both in the chairs in front of the desk, and Marquis Vestra -- Hubert -- folded one long leg over the other. “Well, I wanted to make sure you were looking for a… code,” Bernie told him. “I figured you would, but I wanted to make sure. So I wrote it a little half-heartedly. I know Ferdinand has shown you some of my poems, so you are well aware of my skill with a pen, and I thought a sort of mediocre letter would tell you there was something else to it. And then I wrote the code in and burned the first draft.”

Hubert smiled when she was done speaking. “Well done. As long as you watch the fire to ensure the whole page is burnt, always an efficient way to dispose of evidence. Do you enjoy spy novels, Bernadetta? Or mysteries, perhaps?”

“I enjoy most novels,” she admitted. “I understand they are fictional, of course, but if there was no grain of truth to them, they would suffer from obvious plot holes. I am very excited to learn the real thing.”

Hubert smirked and said, “Indeed. I suppose, then, that the next thing is to get started.” He stood just long enough to reach across his desk and grab a letter that was sitting there, the seal broken but the letter folded.

“My agents send their letters with the most common stamp in their region,” Hubert told her, turning it so the seal faced her: a loopy letter in red wax. She thought it was a B, but would have needed him to stop moving it to be sure. “I have been thinking I may eventually put you on Liecester, since you spent some time there and your husband is on good terms with Governor Gloucester, but for now, while you work on learning our ciphers, you will be a generalist. Southern Liecester tends to favor seals shaped like calligraphic letters, while West Liecester and nearby parts of Faerghus prefer a tree. You should never receive any letters with more specific seals, or ones you recognize as belonging to a particular household, but if you do, give them to me to handle. Does that sound reasonable?”

She nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“Good. Now, I took the liberty of pulling this from your office.” He reached for a book that had been sitting on his desk. “It has guidelines for the types of ciphers we use, though of course the keys change somewhat frequently.” He reached into his pocket and Bernie heard the jingle of metal. “These keys will unlock your door and several drawers of your desk.” He put them down in front of her. “The books in your office can remain unsecured because their security is in the possibility that any of them can be a pad. However, any paper containing private correspondence must be locked up any time you’re out, as must your door, and failure to secure those items can cause you to be dismissed without further cause. Does that make sense?”

Bernie psyched herself up and then said, “Ferdinand said to talk back to you if you intimidate me on purpose.”

Hubert rolled his eyes. “Bernadetta,” he said flatly, and then leaned forward so they were eye to eye. “Lady Aegir. If I were trying to intimidate you, you would know.” He straightened and looked back at the letter. “It will become second nature to you after a couple of weeks; I won’t pretend not to be serious about it, but I intend to help walk you through it while you’re still getting started. Here, I held this for you because this agent is meticulous in their correspondence."

Hubert showed her how to check the letter he’d chosen for identifying marks, stressing that the letter wasn’t legitimate unless it had the right markings on it. It was several minutes of handling it and comparing it to other letters before he told her it was “a simple foursquare cipher, very low-security,” and gave her a few possible keys and then set her to work.

Bernadetta was not very smart. She knew this for a fact. She had a way with words, and with her hands, but Ferdinand’s flattery when he had asked her to help his friend with the  _ looming national security crisis  _ he was dealing with was starting to wear off. When she looked over the first line of deciphering she’d done, she felt her chest muscles clench. It was gibberish. Garbage. She was proud of herself for raising her voice loud enough to say, “Um.”

Marquis Vestra looked up from his own, definitely more difficult, work. Not immediately -- he made a noise like, “Mm?” and raised his eyebrows, and then wrote a bit more before putting his pen down and looking up. “Is it coming along?”

Bernie held her notebook out to him and he took it and looked it over. He frowned at it, then picked up his pen. Bernie thought she might die from embarrassment as she watched him redo her work. She was useless, completely useless, why did Ferdinand ever think she would be able to manage any ciphering, let alone Ministry of the Imperial Household ciphering--

“You only got a few pairs wrong,” Hubert told her as he turned her notebook toward her and slid it back across his desk. He looked far from upset; he seemed calm, almost bored. “Nothing to look so miserable over. It looks like you have a tendency of switching the first and third squares. Keep the order in mind and be sure not to rush. Speed comes with practice.” Then he looked back down at the letter he was cross-checking with a book.

She looked down at her notebook. He was right: the words that had looked garbled before were fixed in the line he’d written under her work, but it was a case of correcting a few key letters; most of her work had been accurate.

Hubert almost certainly hated her, though.

She tried to stay quiet, but Hubert still looked up a few minutes later to ask, “Are you crying?”

She kept looking at her notebook and said, “I am very bad at taking criticism. Especially from men. It is nothing to do with you.” There was a reason she went to a women writers’ salon; if she received the same feedback from men, she would never be able to go back.

“Well, I should hope not, since I think your work is excellent,” Hubert told her.  _ That  _ made her look up. Hubert nodded. “A couple small mistakes are expected, in the first part of your first day. You will make more as you learn more ciphers, especially more complicated ones. Lady Aegir -- Bernadetta -- please believe me when I say that, if I have a bone to pick with you, I will simply tell you. This is hardly the time or place for subtext. If I look upset, it is only because I slept three hours, this cipher is difficult, and I have been struggling to tell whether my associate’s bad spelling is their own or part of another code. You control precisely none of those things. Have some water and take some breaths, and then come finish the letter you were working on.” He gestured with his pen in the general direction of a side table that had a pitcher of water and some glasses on it, as well as some coffee-making equipment and a tin that Bernie wasn’t about to assume was coffee grounds. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it in sips to calm herself down. It was just her overactive imagination making up problems where there were none. Her mind did that a lot.

When she was most of the way through the glass, she did feel a bit better. Hubert's scribbling had filled half another page, but she reminded herself of what he'd said: speed would come with practice. She sat down across from him again and resumed her work, going carefully and double-checking, and the second line she finished only had one error that she could locate and fix easily.

"I got the second line!" she said when she read back over her work and saw it was good. Then she remembered who she was talking to and wondered if she shouldn't have said anything at all. She was interrupting, wasn't she? She'd probably disturbed him at the most complicated part of the cipher.

But Hubert just looked up at her with that soft smile he had and said, "Good work. Are you beginning to enjoy puzzling it out?" Bernie nodded enthusiastically and Hubert nodded once and looked back down at his letter. "Try the rest, then. If the work suits you, I can promise you plenty more to fill your time."

Bernie felt like she spent an hour on the first letter, all told. Maybe she did. She was infinitely satisfied when she tore a page from her notebook and copied the deciphered text onto it, and slid the letter and decoded text across the table.

Like earlier, Hubert took several seconds to detach from his cipher: he nodded when the papers were placed next to him, then continued frowning back and forth between the letter, the book, and the key he'd been using until he finally wrote something down and picked up Bernie's work.

_ Spider, _

_ Little to report. Hevring is still angry his heir ran off after the War, but can't convince him to come home. Interviews uncover little else of concern. Rumors of young Hevring and C Bergliez in the West, maybe near Brigid? Implications hotly discussed -- no eavesdropping needed to hear. Bergliez to visit soon to discuss what to do if they marry. _

_ Bear _

"Excellent," Hubert said when he'd read the letter. "Do you have any thoughts on it?"

Bernie looked down at her hands in her lap and said, "It is certainly not for me to say anything."

"You can have an opinion," Hubert insisted. "You remember Caspar and Linhardt, right? What do you think of the possibility of a marriage, and the international legal kerfuffle your husband would have to handle in such a case?"

Bernie took a deep breath and then said, "I have difficulty seeing why it would be a problem." Hubert raised his visible eyebrow and she continued: "Mr. Caspar von Bergliez is well out of the line of succession. Mr. Hevring is notoriously disinterested in his father's title. I would be much more interested in whether Mr. Hevring planned to return to Hevring than in a possible relationship or marriage. There are workarounds for an unrecognized marriage, but the only workaround for an absentee heir is to assign a new heir. If establishing a relationship with his childhood friend is what brings him back to his family's land, it should be encouraged. If it does not, then the problem is not the marriage, but the lack of an heir." She liked Linhardt; he was depressingly blunt, but she'd only seen him get angry once, and that was at Hubert. He took care of people, including Ferdinand. She liked Caspar well enough, too, but he could get loud and unpredictable despite his general good spirits. Whatever they intended, Bernie hoped they managed it. Everyone deserved the better, freer life they'd fought for.

"And what of the marriage laws?" Hubert asked. "What of the inherent legal rights of a spouse?"

Bernie shrugged. "You can manage that with a good lawyer and a will. I doubt Count Hevring would force his son to wed when Mr. Hevring has proven in no uncertain terms that he will readily up and leave. What, will the law prevent them from signing their letters together? From consulting on how to run Hevring land, perhaps? Most aspects of a marriage have nothing to do with the law, and the rest will probably be respected anyway because of their rank."

Hubert frowned at her and she was just about to apologize for overstepping when he said, "Where were you in the War, when we could have used a sensible head in the strategy tent?"

Bernie looked down and said, "You flatter me."

"You see to the meat of an issue. It is no small talent. As it is, Linhardt and Caspar will almost certainly marry and almost certainly will avoid their families' lands for a very long time. I would be pleasantly surprised if they did return, though; Count Hevring is dragging his feet on finding an heir. Even if I did go to your husband, pleading for recognition of such a marriage, that would not solve the problem of Linhardt and Caspar, which is that both men just fought in a continental war for five years and burned themselves out. The best-case scenario is that they will go on an exorbitantly long honeymoon, recover from the strain, and return to Hevring, but Linhardt has not stepped up to his responsibilities in the past year, so my hope for that is slim."

Bernie nodded. "I understand. You talk frequently of stability, of not making moves that will cause unrest. That is your goal?"

Hubert nodded and said, "Yes. To return stability to our empire after the War destroyed it. Many lands were left without leadership, or like Aegir and Hrym, with inexperienced leadership. That is no small problem. In peacetime, there are scant few problems that can be solved by killing someone. Linhardt and Caspar are a difficult case because Linhardt is the stubbornest man I know and no amount of encouragement will get him back to his family's land. Varley is a more delicate case, involving the Ministry of Religion title, local succession laws that could give the title to either your mother or your sister, and the fact that both of those women know land management, but not how traditions are interpreted. Linhardt just needs to get his act together."

"And you can't make him do that," Bernie clarified, ignoring his second threat in a week to kill her father.

"No."

Bernie smiled. "Then I suppose I am very glad to learn you are not as all-powerful as you pretend to be."

"Nngh. Wish I were. Let me get you started on the second cipher, though."

The second letter had a similar cipher with a different key. Hubert referred to it as "basically unsecured," even though it was taking so long for Bernadetta to decode it when she had been simply given the key and the decoding method.

When she was done with the second letter, after what felt like much less time, they discussed its contents -- a mediocre crop in the Northwest and the local government's response -- and then Bernadetta was released. Hubert had meetings and things, and in his words, "It would not do to burn you out when you should be excited about learning new things. The mind must be rested like any other body part." So she went for a walk in the gardens to kill some time, and then to the library to find a novel to read as she waited for lunch with her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep quiet about Hubert's crush with all the sweet comments last week celebrating their friendship? It just about killed me. I hope you were as surprised as Ferdinand by Hubert's confession. :)
> 
> If you had trouble with the coded letter Bernadetta sent to Hubert, try reading just the first letter of every line.


	13. We Have Not Been So Blessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta gets sick. Hubert figures out why. Ferdinand doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up kind of short because I think it would do a disservice to the subject matter to make it longer and end it with one the more upbeat scenes that follow. We're in a really stressful time right now, so if you want to see the characters moving forward after the pain they feel in this chapter, go ahead and read this and the next chapter next week.
> 
> Huge content warning, this chapter, for abortion/medically necessary abortion/miscarriage themes, and for an unsafe abortifacent. It's woven through the whole chapter, so there's a full summary at the end if you need to skip it. I'll be sure to mention in future notes when these events are referenced.

It was about two and a half months into her work with Hubert when it happened. She woke feeling dizzy and sick, and realized she was late by at least a few weeks, and got up to go to work.

It had happened before. It had happened a few times before, and she could handle it, but she would prefer it if she didn't have to.

She told Ferdinand she was "a little tired, or maybe coming down with something," and she kept her morning check-in with Hubert short because she didn't like the smell of his coffee, and she went to her office and shut the door and sorted letters and didn't cry.

When she took the first round of letters in to discuss with Hubert, he said, "The work went slowly this morning. Were any of the ciphers giving you trouble?"

She just smiled a bit and gave an excuse about sleeping badly and maybe coming down with something, and Hubert told her to be certain to take care of herself.

Three days in, she threw up for the first time, and she knew she would have to end it soon. She wouldn't be able to hide it from Ferdinand much longer. She'd had a lunch meeting with Hubert the previous day and he'd seemed worried. She went back to bed and told Ferdinand she was unwell, that she had a stomach bug. He counseled her to be sure to eat something for breakfast, even if it was small, and kissed her on the forehead and promised to tell Hubert she was unwell.

Two hours after he left, she went to the garden and picked a good amount of pennyroyal and got to work.

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert was sour at teatime, which was a shame. Ferdie asked why he was so somber, and he said, "Well, it is something of a somber day."

Ferdinand frowned. "Oh, no. Is it the anniversary of something? Did I forget?" Was there a battle whose day he had forgotten to mark?

Hubert stared at him for a moment like he'd spoken out of turn, but then looked down at his plate and said, "It is nothing, then, I suppose."

"Oh, come now, Hubert, always with the secrecy!" Ferdinand jabbed. "It is a beautiful summer day! Birds are singing! Flowers bloom all around us! There must be some reason for your bad mood."

Hubert took a moment and then said, slowly as if he was choosing his words carefully, "I just thought of Bernadetta and how she will be unable to enjoy the beautiful day."

Ferdie frowned. "Ah, yes. She does fall ill somewhat often. Her constitution is not as strong as I wish it was. She gets stomach bugs like this sometimes and they usually go away quickly." He smiled at his friend. "With some soup and mint tea, she should be back to normal in a couple days."

Hubert frowned and said, "Mmh," so Ferdinand changed the subject to Dorothea's first international tour instead.

That afternoon, before Ferdinand headed home, Hubert gave him a small bouquet and a letter for Bernie.

"Oh, come now, Hubert, she has a touch of stomach flu. She is by no means dying!" Ferdinand reminded him.

"Even so, it seemed appropriate," Hubert told him. "She is a very emotional person; it will do her well to remember people are thinking about her."

"You can turn the kindest words into an insult," Ferdie accused him, but took the flowers and letter back to Bernie anyway. Hubert hated to admit it, but he was also ruled very strongly by his emotions, so he would enjoy hearing how his flowers had cheered Bernadetta up.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie took two days off: the first to drink the pennyroyal, puke her guts up, and deal with the cramping and heavy bleeding; and the second to mope in bed, looking at the flowers Hubert had sent (“I told him you were not dying, but he insisted,” Ferdinand said) and wishing she was brave enough to have a child.

On the third day, she went back to work with Hubert and everything went wrong.

She stopped by his office to say good morning and tell him she was feeling better. He asked her to come in and sit down and she thought he was going to set her some new cipher work. They often did that first thing in the morning, when she was fresh.

What he did instead was yell at her.

Well, he didn’t yell, exactly. He didn’t actually raise his voice. But he glared at her in a way that kept her stuck in her chair and asked, “Exactly what sort of death wish do you have?”

“Excuse me?” Bernie squeaked. She was getting better at talking back to him, but he’d never shot such a poisonous look her way.

“You used pennyroyal, right? Gambling your life on hedge medicine as if you had no better options. Are we not friends? Allies, at least? Even if we were not as close as we are, do you think I would rather watch Ferdinand mourn you than keep a small secret from him? But no, you couldn’t even ask me to keep the secret, could you? You let me nearly give you away because I thought Ferdinand was just being  _ subtle.” _ Her arms were locked to her sides. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. Her eyes overflowed. “Oh, this is rich.  _ Now  _ you’re upset? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Bernie shook her head. She couldn’t speak if she tried.

“I know you have difficulty with harsh words, but it would be difficult for me to impress upon you exactly how lucky you are to be alive after doing this to yourself for seven years. And with Ferdinand oblivious! You are aware he adores you, right? Why are you so determined to deal with every problem alone, as if he wasn’t there with you?”

Bernie was just trying to breathe normally enough that she wouldn’t faint.

Hubert pulled a jar from his desk drawer and slid it across his desk. “I made you something to aid your recovery,” he grumbled. “One spoonful in a cup of hot water, and then as much honey as you like.”

Her arms wouldn’t move to take the jar. Her throat wouldn’t open to thank him.

“Well? Take it. You may be careless with your life, but I would like to see you recover quickly.”

“My arms won’t move,” she managed to whisper.

Hubert was out of his seat in a moment, walking to her side in quick strides. “Do you feel nauseous?” he asked, his demeanor still serious, but no longer angry. “Is it muscle aches? I can fetch a healer.” His hands hovered over her shoulder.

Bernie shook her head. She’d slept off the pennyroyal effects. Fearing Hubert would fetch someone despite her objections, making a big scene and embarrassing them both, she squeaked out, “My body thinks it’s tied to the chair. It will subside.”

Hubert left her alone for a moment and she braced for him to come back colder and more bitter than before, really let her know how pathetic she was, but his voice was neutral when he asked, “If I move your arms, will that make things better or worse?”

“I d-don’t know,” she managed, and then tried to focus on evening out the shuddering, sobbing breaths that shook her body.

“I’m going to try it,” Hubert told her. Then there were hands on her elbows, easing them out to the sides, but of course they wouldn’t go. How could they? Then a sharper tug and, the next thing Bernie knew, she was leaning forward over her knees, gasping, and she could breathe again. She could move. A fresh wave of tears came over her as she got her wind back.

“That was irresponsible of me,” Hubert said from somewhere far above her head. “You told me you handled criticism badly, and I thought you meant in the normal way even though you always understate your problems. I will not pretend to be any less angry than I said, but I should have expressed it less aggressively.”

When Bernie could speak again, she said, “I would like to collect today’s letters so I can get started in my office.” Nobody bothered her in her office. It was like having a bedroom all to herself again. She hoped Hubert would forgive the way her voice shook. He was sitting behind his desk again, and she was grateful for the physical barrier between them.

Hubert stared like she’d grown a second head and said, “Pardon?”

Bernie stood and reached for the red- and green-sealed letters on Hubert’s desk and squared them together as she said, “I’ll prepare these for you as quickly as possible. I’m sorry for the display just now--”

“Bernadetta. What?”

She couldn’t tell if Hubert’s confusion was because he expected her to turn tail and run, like a coward, or if she’d been dismissed from the Ministry of the Imperial Household’s service without realizing. “I would appreciate some solitude as I sort these out. Of course I’ll come by and ask about any hiccups I come across--”

“Stop. Bernie, stop. What are you talking about?” Hubert’s large, gloved hand covered hers and her hands stilled.

"Um. If you'll still have me," Bernie amended, looking down at their hands and not at Hubert's face.

Hubert removed his hand. "If  _ I'll _ still have  _ you?" _ he asked. "Bernie, people come out of my interrogation sessions in better condition than you're in now. If you come back to my department at all, ever, that would be a better outcome than I could reasonably expect. Um. Come back tomorrow and we can have a conversation about workplace expectations."

Bernie separated the red and green letters again and placed them in their stacks. Her hands still shook. "What do I tell Ferdinand tonight?" she asked. She couldn't tell him the real reason, but she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been home all day.

"You became fatigued and decided to take another day to rest," he told her. "I can mention the same at our meeting this afternoon. And Bernadetta?"

"Mmh?" She looked up at Hubert, finally, and he didn't look angry.

"I do not think less of you for what you did. The way you went about it was reckless, but I do understand the high expectations placed on noblewomen. I hope you will not misinterpret my concern for your safety as a belief that you belong to your husband."

Bernie nodded and thanked him, and then went home.

.-._.-._.-._

Ferdinand liked to think he was a very straightforward person. He did his best to speak and act in ways that communicated exactly what he meant and nothing else. In most cases, he found that such an approach meant people responded in the same way, speaking directly and openly.

Not everybody was like that. Most notably, of course, was Hubert, but Bernadetta had a few topics she kept under wraps, as well. When Ferdinand had banned Count Varley from his house, it was without knowing exactly what his father-in-law had done. All Ferdinand knew was that the count was responsible for Bernie’s fearfulness, and that she got worse when he was around, and that was sufficient.

Because of his personal customs, Ferdinand wasn’t used to holding suspicions close to his chest, and he found it extremely uncomfortable. On the one hand, he weighed the fact that Hubert and Bernadetta had been working together and that would naturally lead to them becoming closer. They shared state secrets and the fun of puzzling through coded letters, and of course they would become friends under those circumstances.

On the other hand, Hubert obviously knew some detail of Bernadetta’s life that he’d alluded to at teatime, and he’d sent flowers for an illness that only lasted a couple days. There was  _ something _ suspicious, and the pieces only fell into place when Ferdinand suspected something terrible.

(But hadn’t Hubert said his great secret was a crush on Ferdinand? Seducing Bernadetta would be impressively self-destructive in that case, even for him.)

Ferdie didn’t even really want to ask questions yet. Bernadetta was still sick, and he didn’t want to shock her into feeling worse. But the question weighed heavy on his mind, and it just sort of came out.

When he came home that evening, he went straight to their bedroom. Bernie was lying snuggled under the covers, reading a book one-handed. She looked over and smiled gently when she saw him, and said, “Welcome home, Ferdinand.”

“Always nice to see you,” Ferdie told her as he crossed the room to kiss her head. “I heard you were feeling unwell today,” he told her, and brushed her bangs up out of her face so he could feel her forehead.

“Mm-hm. But I’ve been resting, and I mostly feel better now,” his wife told him with a soft smile. She looked sleepy.

Ferdie stroked her hair and asked, “Will you be joining me for dinner, or are you still a bit queasy?”

Bernie closed her book and took two tries to put it down on the nightstand as she said, “I’m not very hungry, but I can come down and sit with you.”

“You look tired,” Ferdie told her as he sat down on the bed beside her.. “You can take a nap, if you like. Unless you were waking up?”

“I shouldn’t mess up my sleep schedule,” Bernie told him. “Hubert and I have a meeting first thing in the morning.” And she moved under the covers like she was stretching her back.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Ferdinand asked, and immediately regretted it. He launched into an explanation of his reasoning so she would know he was just nervous, not necessarily accusing.

“I only mean-- I mean, he sent you flowers, and he seemed especially upset that you were sick, and of course I have no problem with you two becoming close, but he-- I dislike feeling suspicious of you, and I would rather ask immediately than let my mind go around in circles. I am so sorry to ask while you are still sick.”

Bernie didn’t launch into the reassurances Ferdinand had hoped for. In fact, she looked very worried as she said, “It isn’t that. That is the first thing: there is nothing but friendship between us. But I think… I think, partly because Hubert is such a good friend to you, he recommended I tell you something.”

“Anything,” Ferdie told her, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m worried you’ll be mad,” Bernie told him. “And sad. And… Disappointed in me. And maybe in yourself? I know you want me to trust you with everything. And, Ferdie, I want that, too. I want to be able to trust easier.” She was crying. Her voice was strained from holding in tears. What was wrong? “I just… I didn’t want you to be sad. Or disappointed. You look to the future with so much hope, and I didn’t want to change that.”

“Are you ill?” Ferdie asked, leaning down a bit. “Is it worse than a stomach flu?”

After a short pause, Bernie said, “Yes and no? I got rid of it…”

Ferdinand stroked her hair and asked, “Got rid of what?” He was so worried, he almost felt nauseous.

“I had morning sickness,” she said, and he connected the dots around the time she added, “And now I won’t have morning sickness anymore.”

Ferdinand felt like there was a hand squeezing his heart. “Oh, Bernie,” he said. “My love.” He bent down to hold her even though he could only reach her shoulders with the covers over her. He kissed her jaw. “Why did you not tell me? Why would I ever be mad?” She loved children. She could deal with their loudness and speak easily with them, and Ferdinand loved to see her so confident. He had never questioned that they both wanted children. He dotted more kisses down the side of her neck.

She hiccuped wetly and said, “I didn’t… I didn’t lose it. I got rid of it. I know you want children…”

Ferdinand froze. That was… Yeah, he could see Bernie worrying about him being mad, then. Not that he would actually  _ be  _ mad, but it was the sort of thing she would worry about. “You clearly have a lot of feelings about this, or you would not feel so upset right now,” he pointed out.

“I want children so badly,” she all but whispered. Ferdinand couldn’t tell if she was shaking from her unsteady breathing, or just shaking. “I want children in this new world we fought for. But I’m… I’m small.” She drew her shoulders in and Ferdinand hugged her tighter to compensate. “My hips are small. And I’m so afraid.”

If Ferdinand hadn’t been married to Bernadetta for seven years, maybe he would have reacted differently. Maybe he would have felt like she’d been hiding something from him, or even lying to him. But Ferdinand knew his wife. He knew she didn’t hide her worries unless she was really upset. It was her own strong feelings about it that made her think he would react badly. So he meant it completely sincerely when he said, “I love you so much, Bernie. Nothing changes that. I only wish you had let me worry over you properly.” He drew back just a bit and asked, “That was why Hubert was so worried? Because you told him?” Bernie was skittish, and she had an easier time confiding in people when she didn’t feel as close to them, and it was difficult to think about sometimes, but it was something Ferdinand had to accept.

She shook her head, though, and said, “No, he figured it out on his own. I guess he figured out that’s what I use the pennyroyal in the garden for. I wasn’t…” She winced a little and continued, “I wasn’t sick this morning. Hubert was mad at me for using pennyroyal instead of asking him for help, and I got upset. But how could I ask him when I never wanted him to know in the first place?”

Ferdie frowned. “Hubert yelled at you so badly, you had to come home and hide in your room all day?” he clarified.

“Not on purpose,” Bernie muttered. “He didn’t realize how sensitive I am. I would have stayed, but he felt bad, so he told me to go home, and time got away from me and… Yeah, he yelled at me and I came home and stayed here all day.”

Ferdinand took a deep breath. He  _ wanted  _ to ride right back to the Palace, where Hubert was no doubt still working, especially with Bernadetta out of commission for three days. But, much more than that, he wanted to comfort his wife.

“Then I will set aside some time tomorrow morning to help you talk to him, if you like,” he offered. “Bernie, how long have you been ending your own pregnancies? And why did you let me think we were infertile?” He tried to let the worry come through stronger in his voice than the hurt he was also feeling. How many times had he bashfully told someone that they had not yet been blessed with a child? How many times had Bernadetta stood next to him as he smiled and shrugged it off, thinking she could never tell him?

Bernie was quiet for several seconds, but she took a while to speak sometimes. At last, she said: “In the carriage to Enbarr, when we came for the wedding, my mother handed me a packet of herbs. And she said: Bernie, you’re small, and you’re seventeen years old, and I’m worried you wouldn’t survive a pregnancy. And then she told me how to use them.”

“And you spent the beginning of our marriage thinking I was like the men you had always known,” Ferdinand added. “Oh, my love, what a heavy secret. And what a long time you had to carry it alone.” He buried his face in the side of her neck.

“My father used to tie me to a chair.”

She said it quickly and loudly, and right next to Ferdinand’s ear. He sat up and said, “Okay…?”

“What he did to me, that I never told you: he tied me to a chair and left me until I went quiet. Sometimes for hours. So I would learn to be an obedient, quiet wife, but I didn’t, because I am… not the type of wife anyone would want. And I never wanted to tell you, but I hate that Hubert knows more about me than you do, and also you deserve to know the reason I don’t feel safe in a house with him. With my father, I mean, not with Hubert; Hubert has always been a perfect gentleman, except when he was worried I would overuse the pennyroyal and hurt myself."

"You are a perfect wife," Ferdinand told her, and he meant it from the bottom of his heart. He leaned down again to murmur into her neck: "You are always by my side and you are trustworthy, patient, intelligent… Hubert has nothing but good things to say, and he's Hubert. My beautiful, dainty wife." And he kissed right under her ear.

"We might have a child if I were not such a coward," Bernie whispered.

"Shhhh. None of that, my love. I would not have you fear for your life for anyone's sake. You were brave enough to carry all that fear alone for over seven years. You are braver every day, and it blooms in you like the finest rose in Gloucester." He kissed her neck and told her, "I will not hear you insult yourself after such a difficult day. Come dine with me, and we can turn in early and face tomorrow together." He would bet good money she had forgotten lunch in her haze of worry.

Ferdinand coaxed his wife out of bed, and convinced her to eat with him, and her self-doubt felt as strong as when they were newly married, like a wall he was constantly crashing against by mistake, but he knew more now about how to push Bernie into a corner where she couldn't help but say something kind about herself, and they had plenty of things aside from themselves to talk about, anyways. It was only when they were alone again, settling into bed, that Ferdinand asked, "How many times have you suffered alone and told me you were just sick?" He felt Bernadetta go tense, so he added, "I ask because I would like to… do something. Light candles, or incense, or  _ something _ . And I would like to really consider the pain my ignorance caused you, because I know you have held your tongue a great many times as I told people we were simply unlucky." His hand slid over her belly in a way he hoped she could tell was affectionate.

She didn't even argue, didn't protest that it was okay because he hadn't known. Either she was truly exhausted or it was such a raw subject that she actually let him apologize. He knew she heard him because she put her hand over his and pressed it closer over her belly. He heard her, in her quietest voice, say: "Seven times." There were no words for the apology he owed her, so he held her tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter summary: Two and a half months after she starts working for Hubert, Bernadetta gets morning sickness, so she takes pennyroyal tea, but only tells Ferdinand that she has a stomach bug. Hubert sends flowers and a card after Ferdinand says she'll stay home a few days and have some mint tea and feel better. When Bernadetta returns to work after two days, Hubert reprimands her for using pennyroyal instead of asking him to research something safer and gives her a potion to help her recovery. When he realizes he's triggered her "men yelling at me" trauma to the point where her arms won't move because she thinks she's tied to the chair, he helps her come out of it and apologizes for speaking so harshly. When Bernadetta acts like she intends to stay at work, he sends her home and tells her to come back in the morning for "a conversation about workplace expectations."
> 
> Ferdinand comes home that evening, feeling suspicious that Hubert and Bernadetta are having an affair even though he knows that makes no sense. He goes right to the bedroom to greet Bernadetta and see if she's feeling any better, since Hubert only told him she felt sick and went home. He impulsively asks if Bernadetta is sleeping with Hubert, and she confesses that the secret he's been keeping for her is much bigger than that. She tells him about the abortion, and about how afraid she is to carry a pregnancy to term, and Ferdinand comforts her. She also tells Ferdinand that she wasn't sick that morning, and relates the exchange with Hubert, and Ferdinand promises to help her deal with it. He asks how long Bernadetta's been doing this, and she tells him about what her mother told her on the way to Enbarr. Hating the idea of Hubert knowing more about her than Ferdinand, she also compulsively tells him about when her father used to tie her to a chair. They end the conversation with Ferdinand reassuring Bernadetta of how much he loves her and complimenting her bravery for carrying such a heavy secret alone. That evening, when they lie down together, Ferdinand asks how many times she's done this, and she says: seven times. He holds her tighter to show that he's finally there to help her carry those feelings.


	14. A Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert ties up an important loose end. Bernadetta is more aware of her husband's feelings than he is. Hubert Suffers in the summer heat and sends a wedding present to his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is a really tense day for all my US readers (and probably for plenty of readers outside the US, as well), so have this update on Technically Tuesday In My Time Zone. No one I know has slept well in a week, so hopefully some of y'all will get to read this tonight. <3
> 
> If last week's chapter was difficult for you, I recommend skipping the first three paragraphs and starting on "Her trust was betrayed a great many times in her youth." Hubert has hounded Minister Varley for the proper mourning rites for stillborn children and given the report to Ferdinand at teatime, and Ferdinand has just said how much it hurts that Bernadetta didn't feel she could trust him. Later, when Ferdinand and Bernadetta are in the carriage, after the line "He handed Bernadetta the report from the Ministry of Religion," they discuss mourning briefly, but mostly talk about whether Bernie's dad knows emotionally charged details about her life, not about those themes.
> 
> I want to add an additional content warning (this is NOT a recurring theme) because, during this chapter, Hubert has a cut on his hand. He put it there for magical purposes. It isn't a form of self-harm, and he readily accepts pain balm to help with it.
> 
> In a much more positive note, this is the chapter where I start really talking about hands. If I ever experience the mortifying ordeal of being known, it will be from someone looking at my hands, so please enjoy this exciting description of our boys :)

In apology for nearly giving away Bernadetta's secret, and also because Ferdinand kept moping about it on coffee break, Hubert talked with Count Varley about the proper way to mourn a child lost before its time. The man put up some resistance, which was obnoxious in itself, and all the more obnoxious because Hubert couldn't just yell at him for treating his children so poorly. But he finally set one of his associates to the task, and within the week, Hubert had a report in his hand detailing the ways people honored their lost children in the past and how some of the more religious customs might be interpreted now. He placed it in an envelope without a seal and handed it to Ferdinand the next time they had coffee.

"For you, from the Ministry of Religion," he said as he handed the envelope over. "I know you are comforted by rituals. These are the proper ones for your situation." And maybe Ferdinand wouldn't spend so much energy adjusting his ascot, straightening his gloves, and poring over immaculately worded legal documents searching for their flaws if he could direct his energy toward the proper rituals for mourning unborn children. Perhaps he could do the actions described in the report and feel at peace.

Ferdinand opened the envelope. The title of the document was,  _ Customs and Rituals to Memorialize Stillborn Children _ . Hubert watched him read the first line, and would really have preferred never to see his friend look at him with such a raw, tragic look in his eyes. He put the report back in its envelope without reading it and looked down as he said, "Thank you. It will be a great comfort to us, I am sure." They sat for a moment in silence, Hubert not sure what to say that would help, and then Ferdinand was looking at him again with those big, sad eyes, and he said, “I really feel like I failed her. She should at least have been able to ask me for comfort.”

“Her trust was betrayed a great many times in her youth,” Hubert reminded his friend. “It may be several years, still, before she allows herself to trust again. The more important a matter is, the more likely she will hide it. It is… not uncommon.” It was what Hubert, himself, did. He despised it, but he did it.

“I know. And I do my best to not worry about it, and remember it is not me she fears, but… It gets hard, Hubert. The heart does not always listen to the head.”

Seeing his friend so miserable made Hubert’s heart do flips, so he didn’t really try to keep the tension from his voice as he said, “I am aware.”

Ferdinand at least had the good manners to look embarrassed. “Ah, yes. Apologies; of course you have your own… troubles to deal with in that arena.” He sighed like some kind of beautiful, tragic poet and said, “Why is it so much harder to remember with Bernadetta than it is when training a horse?”

There were many good answers to that question, but Hubert decided to let Ferdinand run his mouth for a while. “...Perhaps because your wife is human?”

Ferdie waved a dismissive hand at him. “I know you think I am very silly and out of touch when I say such things, but if you had any affection for horses, you would know they are not so terribly different from us. Their minds are simpler, certainly, but not so simple they do not feel the same basic impulses. I have certainly worked with horses before who needed extra assurance that I would not lead them through mud or jerk at the reigns. You remember my riding horse, Marzipanstollen? He was that way simply because he was separated from his mother too early. It worries me that I was able to sympathize with him and have no hard feelings when he needed me to prove he could trust me, but when Bernie needs the same, it makes me feel it was something I did that prompted her to feel that way.”

“It is certainly not in my extensive skill set to figure out exactly how much you love horses,” Hubert told his friend, “but I would imagine that even you would not love your riding horse as much as your wife.” He smirked and added, “Your warhorse, perhaps, but he has a different set of issues.”

Ferdinand cracked a smile at that, at least. “I suppose so,” he conceded. “...You are right. I do take it more personally when Bernie is upset. I expect her to think logically, when of course her fear overwhelms her knowledge." He held up the report Hubert had given him and said, "Hopefully, this will help. I just want to give her some closure, mourn with her now since I was unable to before."

It was a lovely idea. Very sweet, in exactly Ferdinand's style. But there was a possibility for a wrench to be thrown in it, and Hubert didn't like the idea of Bernadetta having to start a difficult conversation Ferdinand was unprepared for. "One point they make in that report," he began, so he wouldn't sound like he was speaking baselessly, "is that there are many parts of Adrestia where it is considered primarily a women's issue. I would hate to see you offer comfort when what Bernadetta needs is space. I know you are hurting, as well, but if your goal is truly to gain her trust, let her take the lead."

In truth, the feeling tugged at his mind, as usual:  _ don't you want a simple relationship? _ he wanted to ask.  _ Wouldn't you enjoy spending your time on someone who can take care of himself? _ But to voice those suggestions would be to lose his most valuable friendship. Ferdinand was loyal to the core, which Hubert understood because he was the same. He could not betray Bernadetta any more than he could grow a third arm, and if he could, Hubert would not admire him so deeply.

Ferdinand sighed heavily and conceded, "You are right, of course. And her parents seem like the types who would teach her it was something unmentionable. I will do my best, but as you said, I am hurting, too. But thank you for the warning."

Hubert just nodded and had some coffee.

"And thank you for your ongoing friendship," Ferdinand continued. "I do not want to drag the topic out, but I know it must be difficult to help me with my marriage troubles, feeling the way you do, and I want you to know I appreciate it."

Hubert looked down at his coffee and cursed his pale skin for blushing easily. "It is something I would do for any friend," he assured Ferdinand. "Whatever my other feelings are, I value our friendship very highly."

"And I do, too," Ferdie assured him. "Our friendship and also your friendship with Bernie. In fact, I am greatly in debt to you for noticing what was happening; she never would have told me on her own, and she would still be suffering alone."

"There are only a few illnesses that progress for multiple days, but are gone by lunchtime," Hubert pointed out. "And she has an impressive amount of skill in not mentioning things she doesn't want said."

"You say that like she has already become one of yours," Ferdinand joked.

Hubert raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is she not?"

The blush that lit up Ferdinand's cheeks and brought out his summer freckles didn't evade Hubert's notice as he said, "You know what I mean. One of your spies, with a codename and everything."

Hubert kept his eyebrow raised and tilted his chin down just slightly.

"Oh, you stop it. Even you would not be so brazen as to ask my own wife to spy on me. I am certain you have  _ somebody _ in my household, but not her."

"I would be very genuinely stupid to ask someone to spy on a spouse who they love," Hubert pointed out. "But I certainly appreciate the insight into who is considered 'one of mine' and who is not." What he actually wanted was for her to take over dealing with some of the higher-level informants so he would have more time for his own responsibilities. And also for her to formally introduce him to a friend she'd mentioned from her writers' salon, since he trusted her much more than he trusted his aunts.

"You know exactly who is considered 'one of yours,'" Ferdinand scolded. "Must you pretend you do not? Also, you are pulling one of your tricks again, refusing to actually tell me she does no spying for you."

"My business is accurate information," Hubert reminded his friend. "At this time, your wife does not do any field work for me, and even that is much more than I would tell anyone I was not so close with."

"A very impressive non-answer," Ferdinand told him with one of those charismatic grins he was so famous for. "Only you could give an answer that opens up so many new questions."

"Oh, no, I offer training in that sort of precise speaking now," Hubert told him. "Bernie and I have been practicing at our lunch meetings. Soon, we will also begin working on that pesky intimidation problem she has. She really goes far with a little push forward." And Hubert was the cat who got the cream, because his ministry was exactly the place where a woman with Bernadetta's talents could shine. Ferdie's lawmakers would chew her up and spit her out and not even realize, but she understood the power of subtlety and suggestion, and she differentiated between fact and subtext as if she had been born doing it, and with even the small amount of matter-of-fact praise Hubert could offer, she had become a very capable and confident cipherer and strategizer.

"I shall have to tell her how highly you praise her," Ferdie told him. "I cannot imagine you being anything but sparing with your praise in person."

"I do have a reputation to uphold," Hubert reminded him.

"I see right through you," Ferdinand told him cheerfully. "She is one of your favorites. I cannot be anything but proud because, as you know, she is the best wife a man could have, so I daresay she is one of my favorites, too. And I am relieved she has found fulfilling work; she has no confidence in her accounting skills, so even with our stewardship of the duchy, she was left with little more than hobbies after the War. It feels good to work in the service of your country and your emperor."

"I will always agree with you there," Hubert admitted. "It feels good to be needed, to contribute to something larger than yourself. I think she has begun to understand that, as well." Of course, she had been essential to Adrestia before, as well; she was the light in Ferdinand's eyes and the fire in his voice. But it was nice to be able to contribute more directly, too.

Ferdinand's smile turned a bit sad. Or wistful, maybe. "When we were just married, she understood the subtleties of language better than I ever have," he admitted. "She would fly into a panic over the smallest thing someone said. And, when it came to the things her parents said, she was often correct about their meaning." He picked up a teaspoon and fidgeted with it, gesturing with it and turning it end over end, while Hubert started eating a scone, anticipating Ferdie would be speaking for several more seconds. "The day after we married, her mother visited us. We sat in the parlor together and discussed-- something; I do not quite remember. Taxes, probably, or subjects' rights. One of the things we still disagree on. After she left, Bernadetta began apologizing frantically, as if Lady Varley had humiliated or yelled at me. I could not, for the life of me, figure out why Bernie was upset, when all I perceived to have happened was that I had shown I was not a pushover. Her family spent five more days in Enbarr, but they did not contact us or even write to say farewell. We were not invited to Varley for the winter holidays despite it being so close to Garreg Mach. Even though I think Bernie came across as very out of touch at the Academy because of the assumptions she made about people, I think, with your training, she will become very perceptive and skillful."

Hubert swallowed his scone and said, "I agree completely. The sensitivity is there; the task is to hone her accuracy, so that she listens to what is said and does not let her nerves run rampant with what she believes was left unsaid unless there is a solid basis for interpretation." He understood the warning Ferdinand was giving him: Bernadetta's sensitivity came from her parents' cruelty, so it was important not to make her recall that pain as they worked. He hoped his reassurance was clear: that the entire purpose of training her was to pull her out of that panicked mode of thinking and help her see clearly and calmly what was being said.

And also to ensure Ferdinand didn't accompany Bernie to Hubert's office again in a fit of rage, which Hubert sort of did deserve, over Bernadetta's mistreatment. Naturally, Hubert wanted to avoid abusing his staff (and friends) regardless, but Ferdinand had really driven the sentiment home. Even when Hubert was finally allowed to properly apologize to Bernadetta and discuss their roles and what was appropriate, it was only with aggressive mediation by the Prime Minister. It was a week and a half ago now, and Hubert still felt cautious around Bernadetta, even when he was giving instructions or positive feedback.

“That sounds a lot like what they discuss at her writers’ salons,” Ferdinand told him. “Or at least, it sounds like the bulk of what she tells me about. So she is certainly interested in learning to make the distinction between what is real subtext and what is imagined-- Hubert!”

Hubert looked up from the petit four he was moving to his plate. He paused with it still in the air. “Yes?”

“Your hand,” Ferdinand said.

...Right. Yes, the cut on his hand. It still stung, but he had forgotten it was visible despite the dark magic stains on his hands. “Ah. Yes. Unavoidable, as I am certain you understand,” he said, and put the tiny cake down.

Ferdinand reached across the table and Hubert rolled his eyes as he gave the other man his hand, which was immediately splayed out palm-up.

“The magic needs to hold, or I would have had it healed,” he told Ferdinand, which was as much as the Prime Minister needed to know. It was to do with a field agent who had walked into an inn looking one way and walked out looking another. Hubert had walked in and out looking exactly the same both times, thanks to his gloves, but the reconnaissance had to be finished before he could have his hand healed. The scar was four days old, his flesh properly lined up but just slightly puckered, the scabbing difficult to see against the sickly color of Hubert's palm.

He didn't much like looking at his hands, anyway.

"Does it hurt? Can you use medication for it?" Ferdinand asked, touching with surprising delicacy around the wound. His fingers looked vibrant, vital,  _ real _ next to Hubert's.

"A vulnerary would only end the spell," Hubert reminded him. "Medication is out of the question."

Ferdinand looked at him with an astounding softness in his eyes and Hubert wondered why he ever thought he could just be friends with the man without making some enormous mistake. "Not healing medication," he said. "Pain management. Can you use pain killers? I have a salve that works wonders."

There was no way to say no to those kind eyes. (There was no way not to be taken in by a man who saw the unnatural stains on his hands and still touched them so tenderly.) Hubert said, "I don't see how it could hurt," and cursed his soft heart.

"Come to my office with me after tea," Ferdinand instructed, and gave Hubert his hand back. "I keep an ointment for rainy days."

He meant that quite literally, Hubert knew. He couldn't think of how he knew Ferdinand had a bad leg (a bad knee?), perhaps because he had never hidden that information. Ferdinand was the type who refused to complain, but Hubert knew he had overheard more than one conversation between Ferdinand and Linhardt, at the Academy and during the War, particularly in the winter. He vaguely recalled the look of Ferdinand's limp one afternoon as they had pitched camp in the rain, back before he knew anything at all about Edelgard's plans for war. Did he have more injuries now? He had to, but perhaps some of them had healed better via magic.

It wouldn't do to think of Ferdinand's legs, or his battle scars. Hubert tried to keep his expression neutral as he said, "I have a few minutes to spare."

"You can keep it while you need it," Ferdinand promised. "I have more at home, and I usually have little need for it while the weather holds."

"It will only be another day or two," Hubert promised him. "Then I can use a vulnerary and get back to normal."

"You should speak to a healer, after so long unhealed," Ferdinand told him. He glanced down at Hubert's hand, and Hubert felt a compulsion to put his gloves back on, even though he never felt that way around Ferdinand. "Vulneraries work differently after so long, and a clean healing is especially important on your hands."

"I will keep that in mind," Hubert promised. It had been a while -- too long -- since a healer had looked at his hands without asking questions. In the War, there had been plenty of people with hands like Hubert's, and the clothes that signified his rank and position more or less told the healers what they would see when his gloves came off. A year out and the stains had faded for most people. Even a casual 'Is that from magic, then?' made Hubert feel too vulnerable, like he had a secret that had been given away. He didn't like it at all. He especially disliked how it made him miss Linhardt, who he didn't particularly like and who was currently shirking his duty in a brazen way better suited to a teenager. For all his many frustrating qualities, Linhardt had never given Hubert's stranger injuries a second glance. The worst of him was when he would note how long it had been since a battle in an attempt to imply Hubert was being frivolous with his magic.

Hubert would make do with a vulnerary, and perhaps at some point he would cut the wound back open for another spell and feel able to get a proper healing for it.

They finished their coffee break with no small amount of fussing on Ferdie's part about how Hubert took care of himself (the man was always convinced Hubert was sleep deprived and starving, and it wasn't that he had no reason to feel that way, but Hubert liked to keep his vulnerabilities close to his chest and a little sleeplessness was nothing new or terrible for him) and then Hubert accompanied Ferdinand to his office.

After the door was shut, it only took a moment for Ferdinand to find the salve. It was in the top drawer of his desk, not so far in the back that it was difficult to retrieve. "That should last you," he said as he placed a small jar in Hubert's uninjured hand. "If it gives you any trouble, come see me again."

"And it has no magic?" Hubert confirmed.

"None," Ferdinand promised. "Bottled healings do nothing for my old injury. Even new healings only soothe; they do not actually fix anything."

Hubert said, "Thank you for this" and removed his gloves so he could smear a line of ointment down the scar on his palm, hoping he didn't visibly wince as he touched the injury. He felt no change by the time he left Ferdinand's office, but that only meant the salve was natural, as promised. He returned to his office and didn't realize until about an hour or so later that he hadn't thought about the stinging pain in his hand for several minutes.

.-._.-._.-._

"Does Hubert have any war injuries?" Bernie asked in the carriage home.

"No significant ones that I know of," Ferdie told her. "Why do you ask?"

"He smelled like your pain balm this afternoon," she said.

There was a very intentional non-accusation there, so Ferdinand told her the truth: "He had a cut on his hand. Some sort of blood magic, so he cannot heal it yet. It, ah. I would have given it to him, regardless, but it was the least I owed him after he pestered your father into getting him this." He handed Bernadetta the report from the Ministry of Religion.

Bernie opened the envelope, found the title, and looked up at him, alarmed. "Does Father know?" she asked.

"Knowing Hubert, absolutely not," Ferdie reassured her. "He knows we like Count Varley out of our business. He is very good at giving only the most necessary information." He touched his wife's knee and added, "One point they make in there is that there are many places where it is… Where men are not considered to be a part of the mourning process. If my attempts to comfort you have been making you uneasy…"

"There are many places where men consider  _ themselves _ not to be part of it," Bernie told him, looking him in the eye. She looked back down at the papers and added, "and many places where women have given up on their husbands supporting them through it. Your sympathy has only been comforting to me." She put her hand over his on her knee. “And Hubert’s, strange as it was. How do you really feel about Hubert?”

It was a very strange question. “How do you mean? He is my closest friend, as you know.” Ferdinand turned his hand over so he was holding Bernadetta’s hand. Was she suspicious again? She didn’t seem upset.

“He certainly is,” she agreed, giving his hand a little squeeze. “And he makes time for you at least once a week, despite his busy schedule. And you not only noticed his hand hurting, but you offered him a salve that you are embarrassed to use for yourself.”

It was almost worse to be accused by Bernadetta when she was so calm. “Bernie, there is nothing between us,” he promised. “You know him; you know he would not sow unrest in our household.”

Bernadetta raised their hands to her lips and kissed Ferdie’s fingertips. “I know,” she told him, smiling. “Hubert is not an honest man, but you are.” She leaned against his shoulder. “Now that I know him, I can appreciate more why you like him so much. I did not ask whether you have been doing anything with him; I know the answer to that. I asked how you feel.”

“He is--” What  _ were _ Hubert’s good qualities? He was sneaky, two-faced (eight-faced?), loyal to Edelgard even beyond his loyalty to Adrestia, he had many self-destructive habits, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit to his own imperfections in time to get help when he needed it. All those things were true, but they didn’t keep Ferdinand from liking his friend a great deal. “He is my friend. If he were any other way than how he is, I would dislike him and hold him in very low esteem. But instead, I find myself admiring his dedication even when I do not always agree with his methods.”

After a few seconds, Bernie asked, “Would it make you feel any sort of way if I were to tell you he is seeking to get engaged?”

“His aunts are seeking to get him engaged,” Ferdie corrected her. “He has shown little interest.”

“He has asked me to introduce him to Laura, from my writers’ circle. The one who writes scary stories? I would not pretend to know whether he wants to placate his aunts or whether he is seeking marriage, but he seems pretty intent.”

Ferdinand’s throat felt tight. “Marriage would be good for him,” he said. Of course he was happy for his friend to meet people and gain some stability.

“But does it make you feel anything?” Bernie challenged.

He was left with two options: redirect the conversation or lie to his wife. He took the less repulsive one. “You have nothing to fear, Bernadetta. There is nothing between us, as you, yourself, know.”

She kissed his hand again. He raised his arm and put it around her shoulders, and she nestled against him.

“Do you want there to be, though?” she asked, still snuggled close to him.

Ferdinand felt his body tense. “How could you suggest that?” he asked. “I want my life with you. I want to make you happy. I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

“You are very slow in matters of love,” Bernadetta told him, and he could hear the smile in her voice. She looked up at him and she was grinning. “Ferdinand, I am not asking if you would betray me. I am asking if you have two loves.”

“You and Adrestia,” he answered automatically. “Those are my two loves.” He was very confused. He couldn’t parse the tone of their conversation.

Bernadetta giggled, as if what he’d said was funny. “You are my wonderful, honorable husband,” she told him, and leaned up to kiss him. He bent down to meet her halfway, still confused. “You have very tender feelings for him sometimes, don’t you?”

“Well, he never takes care of himself,” Ferdie reminded her. “He keeps long hours and forgets to eat. He let a wound remain on his hand for days -- maybe a week -- without even treating the pain. And he has nobody at home to worry over him.” He could feel his face warming with the familiar frustration of thinking about Hubert’s self-destructive qualities.

“You should talk to him about it,” Bernadetta recommended. “Perhaps at your teatime, perhaps at our house... Perhaps he would allow you to kiss his hand. Perhaps he would be the one kissing  _ your  _ hand.” She brushed Ferdinand’s hair behind his ear and kissed him again. “If I have gauged your feelings incorrectly, I will never speak of it again. But I wonder if you simply never considered the possibility. Now that I know him, and how noble he is, I would not feel like he was intruding on our marriage.”

“Even still,” Ferdinand protested, “I would never want you to feel you had to share me with somebody. I would never ask that of you.” Did he have feelings for Hubert? He had a lot of feelings for Hubert. But none of them were romantic. ...Right?

“I know,” Bernie assured him. “That’s part of why I decided to offer. Look at your blush.” She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Your body responds to your thoughts about him. I have come to like him a great deal, too. If it was Hubert, I wouldn’t mind sharing you.”

“I… have never considered that my feelings might mean anything other than friendship,” Ferdinand said. Something about Bernadetta’s suggestion pulled at his chest, or he would have continued to shut the idea down. “I am greatly in your debt for pointing out that I may be feeling something I, myself, had not recognized. I… will keep you informed.”

“Do that,” Bernie told him, and kissed his neck. “I want you to be happy, Ferdinand, and there is a lot that I would accept if I had no choice, but I would never suggest this on my own if I did not feel that he was no threat to me.” She smirked, looking away, and added, “In fact, it might be funny, watching him go all soft about you. He feels very strongly, as much as he would never admit it.” She snuggled against him and added, “It could be nice to be able to share my affection for you with someone who understands how wonderful you are.”

Ferdie felt his face heat up, thinking about it. Bernadetta and Hubert, saying sweet things about him behind his back? He had never thought of it before, but it sounded… very, very nice. “I should tell you something,” he told Bernadetta. “I think you already know, but I feel I should tell you anyway. A few months ago… Hubert told me he was in love with me. We agreed, mutually, that nothing could come of it, and he has made no effort to pursue his feelings. He has been entirely respectful. I just wanted you to know that, if I decide to move forward, Hubert probably will, too.”

“I suspected,” Bernie told him, as if he had just told her Hubert had predicted it would be sunny tomorrow. It was like it wasn’t even news. “After I met him, I was very distraught and wrote to him to ask if you had told me the truth. He wrote back reassuring me that nothing would happen, which was true, of course, but I dug the letter up recently and realized he had never written what his feelings are. He has a way of doing that: you feel certain he has told you something, and instead, he has told you everything  _ but  _ that thing. With the way he talks about you and treats you, I thought he must hold some very deep feelings for you.”

“I heard he was teaching you to do the same,” Ferdie teased. “Speaking in double meanings.”

“He says I am taking to it very well,” Bernie replied. “It is a very fun challenge, but exhausting. I have no idea how he does it so much.”

“He has a great deal of practice,” Ferdinand reminded her. “Remember when you began ciphering and it tired you quickly? You will get the hang of this soon enough.”

Bernie nodded. “You will sleep on this issue, then?” she asked. “I think you will find it becoming more appealing as you think about it.”

“Only because you suggested it,” Ferdinand told her. He wanted to give her space to rescind her suggestion, in case she was only making it because she thought he wanted her to. She wasn’t acting the way she normally did when she suggested things under self-imposed duress, but he still wanted to be certain. “If you were not content with the idea, I would never consider it, much less for multiple days.”

“I am the one encouraging it,” Bernie confirmed. “I think all three of us would be happy with that arrangement.” She leaned bonelessly against him and added, “You already look out for him, and he looks out for you. It worried me before, but now it makes me very happy to think about it.”

Ferdinand’s heart beat hard in his chest. He still didn’t know how he felt. There was something good, and something uncertain, and something afraid. But Bernie was content, and he had plenty of time to ruminate on why he felt so many different ways. He would figure it out.

.-._.-._.-._

The morning after Ferdinand brought home the report on miscarriages and stillborns, Bernie was in Hubert’s office when something very interesting and strange happened.

They were having their usual early-afternoon meeting, where she presented the letters she’d just decoded in the morning, when a woman burst in unannounced. Bernie turned when she heard the noise behind her. The woman was breathing heavily, but didn’t otherwise look like she was in any distress. She said, “I got it,” looking toward Hubert.

Hubert was standing, and he walked around his desk to the woman -- presumably, an agent -- and said, “You need to learn to knock. That was faster than I expected; you left no trace?”

The intruder shook her head. She was unremarkable: strawberry blonde hair in a simple bun, and a dress that wasn’t new or worn, expensive or cheap. Bernie wondered if she would recognize her if she ever saw her again. “No, I just got the chance sooner than we thought.” She pulled something out of a pocket and handed it to Hubert. It was in a dark blue bag, which Hubert opened directly and then closed once he’d looked inside. “Now, take the spell off; I’ve been itching ever since you put it on. My hands look wrong.”

Hubert went to his desk and put the bag down on top of it. He pulled a purse from his desk, said, “Payment on receipt, of course,” and tossed it to the agent. It landed in her hands with a clink like coins. Then he looked at Bernie and said, “Lady Aegir, some privacy while we conclude our business?”

Bernie gathered her letters and notes, and left to go to her office. It occurred to her that, while having an office where she could spend her time in privacy was very agreeable to her, it also kept her out of sight of the front door of Hubert’s office. She had thought that the generally quiet, private feel of the Ministry of the Imperial Household (as opposed to Ferdie’s department) was because even normal correspondence had to be kept under several layers of security at the end of each day, but perhaps it was also to maintain anonymity.

Perhaps five minutes later, there was a knock on her door. She said, “Come in!” expecting Hubert, and it was Hubert who entered. “We can continue our discussion in here, if you like,” he told her, and she said yes, and they continued talking without mentioning the agent who had interrupted them in the first place. Then, as Hubert inspected one of the letters Bernie had had difficulty confirming as valid, she noticed some red soaked into his glove.

“Hubert, are you bleeding?” she asked, and instinctively reached for his hand the same way she did when Ferdinand was hurt.

“Ah. Yes. Looks like it reopened on release of the spell,” Hubert told her. “Shame about the gloves. I have a vulnerary in my office--”

“Let me heal it for you, then,” Bernie said automatically. “Ferdinand said it was a few days old; even if it reopened, a real healing will be better.”

“Ferdinand needs to learn what to keep private,” Hubert said, snatching his hand away from her. “A vulnerary will be adequate.”

“Well, I already know, and a vulnerary will not ease the pain around it, and it will only take a second,” Bernie argued. And then she reached out and did a healing on his hand without waiting for his protest.

Hubert paused. Bernadetta paused in response. Had she crossed a line? A cut on your palm for magical purposes was very different from a cut you received in battle and proudly displayed as proof of your bravery. But surely Hubert’s protests weren’t unreasonable; he thought everything through. Bernie snatched her hands back with a quiet, “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine,” Hubert said, but he looked puzzled. “I… will go change my gloves.”

“Remember to soak the one with the blood on it,” Bernie reminded him. She’d met very few men who knew how to deal with bloody clothes, even after the War. “That will prevent staining.”

“Ah. Right.” Bernie had seen people confused after healings before, but usually only after healings more intense than she was capable of. He flexed his hand as if something profound had happened, looking intently at it.

Then he straightened, shook his head slightly, and looked up at her, saying, “Apologies. How unprofessional of me. I will go change my gloves, and then I will be back to discuss Boramas.” He was out the door almost before Bernie could register the change to his usual, serene, grumpy self.

When he came back, Bernie asked if he was okay and he said, “Yes, of course. Why would I not be?”

“You just seemed a little dazed,” she told him, looking down at the letters she’d spent the morning on. “I have seen Ferdinand in a similar state, but only with a lot more blood on him.”

“It was a new spell,” Hubert told her. “It must have had some effects I failed to anticipate.”

Bernie nodded and told him, “If you feel faint or ill, please tell me. You are very self-sacrificing, and I would not want to see you hurt because of it.” She pushed the letter from Boramas toward him. “The Horse does tend to be a bit lax with their identifying marks, but I think we should only assume this one is legitimate if we receive other information confirming part of this letter.”

They didn’t discuss Hubert’s agent or his hand for the rest of their meeting, but she saw him flex his hand again on the way out her door, and it worried her.

.-._.-._.-._

Monday dawned hot and bright and Hubert considered staying home to languish in his room as his body melted. Summer was, by far, his least favorite season. But Hubert was very proud of his consistency, so he pulled himself out of bed, dressed in his usual layers, and was sweating before he left the house.

In the early morning, a runner brought him a request for a private meeting with Ferdinand that afternoon, and he had time, so he accepted. After the Monday briefing with the Emperor, he followed Ferdinand to his office. Bernadetta was sitting outside, and followed them in.

“Something amiss in the Imperial Household?” Hubert asked, frowning slightly, when the door was shut.

“Nothing like that,” Ferdinand told him. "Just some personal matters. You may want to sit down."

Hubert leaned against a side table and crossed his arms.

Bernadetta sat on Ferdinand's desk, looking cute and decorative, as if she wasn't a duchess with a variety of finely honed skills. Ferdinand didn't sit at all, and he spoke first.

"We discussed something on Thursday," Ferdinand said, reaching out to gently touch his wife's arm. "Well, actually, we discussed a great many things on Thursday. But one of the topics we covered was: we have reached a contented plateau, I think. All of us are friends, and satisfied in our friendships. But something Bernie noticed, that even I, myself, did not, is the depth of my feelings for you."

Hubert nodded. That was a weird start. Was there even time in their schedules to pursue more involved activities than weekly coffee breaks? Had he been called to the Prime Minister's office to discuss how imperative it was for their official relationship title to be 'Best Friends Forever'?

"I asked Bernadetta to be here so it would be clear it is no betrayal of her for me to ask if you would like to have dinner together Saturday night."

Hubert couldn't parse the tone of the conversation. Was he coming down with something? That would be just what he needed. "We have eaten dinner a great many times," he reminded Ferdinand. "Not recently, but that is how the cards fall sometimes."

Ferdinand's dashing smile faltered just slightly. "Then what would make you feel appreciated?" he asked.

"Come again?" Nothing was making sense. Could twenty-six-year-olds have strokes? That would more than explain his confusion. Maybe Linhardt would return, after all, if it meant he could make fun of Hubert for running himself into the ground for the second time in two years.

It was Bernadetta who saved them by simply taking a sledgehammer to Hubert's heart and saying, "Ferdinand is asking you on a date."

Hubert was very proud that his response was a completely calm-sounding "Ah. Thank you for clarifying." His heart was pounding. He had to be hallucinating, or else why would Ferdinand ask him on a date? And why would Bernadetta seem not only okay with that, but happy about it?

There was something amiss and Hubert couldn't tell what it was. Were they speaking in some kind of code? Then what was the key? And why were they abusing his poor heart along the way? Was it some badly thought-out joke? It had to be. Good things didn't happen to Hubert unless he worked to make them happen. Even the title he'd inherited came at the cost of a long and bloody war and, ultimately, the arrest and execution of his father. Being a joke would make sense of why he was having so much trouble figuring out what was happening.

"I did not actually follow you here to be mocked," he told Ferdinand. "If you have no other talking points, I will take my leave." 

"Wait. Hubert," Ferdinand said, and there was the smallest tinge of desperation in his voice that always made Hubert think,  _ yes, he wants you, _ a feeling he had tamped down on hundreds of times before, that he would stomp down plenty of times again. "This is no joke. You know me; I would never do that to you. I have only the greatest respect for you, which is why I am asking-- ...Why I am asking you out."

Hubert's heart still thumped loud and fast in his chest. He hadn't slept enough to deal with this. He looked at Bernadetta. "And you have no objections?” he asked. "None at all?" Wasn't that the same woman who'd written to him only three months prior in desperation, trying to ensure he and Ferdinand were  _ not _ an item?

"As long as you are willing to share him with me," Bernadetta said with her eyes downcast but a contented smile on her face. And the match struck in Hubert's head.

He'd heard about this from Dorothea: couples who found her very handsome and talented and asked her to join them in their bed as some sort of exciting accessory to their existing relationship. He hadn't thought Ferdinand and Bernadetta to be the types, but people had many faces.

"I thought we might go to the opera together," Ferdinand was saying. "Share a box. Just the two of us."

_ Just the two of us _ . That implied Bernadetta wouldn't be there. But she had just clearly said--

"I will need some time to consider this," Hubert told him. And then he didn't move for fear his legs would give out. (They wouldn't. There was no chance. How embarrassing if they somehow did, though.)

"Take a seat, Hubert," Ferdinand said, and grabbed his arm to lead him to one of the chairs in front of his desk and then took the other one.

Bernadetta hopped down from the desk and said, "I believe my role here is finished. I will be in my office if anyone needs me." She paused to kiss Ferdinand on the top of his head before she left and they exchanged brief goodbyes.

"What sort of arrangement are you looking for?" Hubert asked. Were they using his attraction to Ferdinand as a lure to get him to accept bedding Bernadetta, too? If not, did Bernie actually trust her husband that much? And why did she seem so happy with the idea?

"Always so formal," Ferdinand chided. "I am looking to… begin something with you. See where it leads. Learn whether the real is as good as the imagined."

"And Bernadetta?" Hubert clarified. His heart was still pumping too hard and too fast.

Ferdinand shook with unvoiced laughter and said, "Bernadetta would like to have someone to gossip with about me."

It was a marvel of nature, really, that Hubert was in the middle of some sort of cardiac episode and could still feel a blush rise, hot and red, to his cheeks.

“As you know, I keep my feelings close to my chest,” Hubert reminded his friend. “Your box is reserved for Saturday?”

Ferdinand nodded with a smile that gleamed like the sun. If it was Ferdinand who made the summer so bright, maybe Hubert wouldn’t mind it so much.

“You will have your answer at our coffee break,” Hubert promised. That would be plenty of time for Bernadetta to prepare herself to go out to a show, and enough time for Hubert to decide whether he really wanted to know whether having was better than wanting. "You understand, I hope, that it is not as simple a matter as considering my short-term enjoyment. There are the feelings of all parties to be considered." There was wondering whether they would ever be able to just be friends again if things didn’t work out.

"There are," Ferdinand agreed. "However, please also understand that Bernadetta and I have already carefully considered our feelings. I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship, but I understand if you feel that might be a side-effect of this endeavor, anyway."

Hubert nodded. He had too many feelings to articulate. They washed over him with no regard for his limited ability to think in the summer heat. "I will be on my way," he told Ferdinand. "At the moment, it is a topic for private consideration." He nodded to his friend, his painfully beautiful, eternally optimistic friend, and stood to leave. He had to get back to his office to prepare to meet with the Rat.

He thought, not for the first time that day, that he should have stayed home. Perhaps just come in for the afternoon from the Cabinet's weekly briefing through this next meeting, and avoided the sweltering realities of aboveground life for a while. He would do better untangling ciphers in his house' cellar than he'd done trying to stay in his office, with its large window. But needs must.

He dropped by Bernie's office before he headed out. "Do you need anything from my office before I lock up?" he asked. He wouldn't want to leave her with her letters locked in his office, past his warding charms, when she could just retrieve them now. He'd left for the briefing earlier in a bit of a rush.

"No, I have what I need," she assured him with a cheerful smile. "Will you be back later?"

"Yes, but I may be a while; I have to go into town." His movements were seldom a secret. He was too easily recognized. His meetings with agents relied more on nobody knowing who the agent was.

"Alright, have fun," Bernadetta said, as if he ever got time for 'fun' these days, with five separate imperial security issues hanging over him (the Hevring heirship, the minor flooding and scorching heat hurting crops in the Northeast, Liecester's antsiness, the Almyran wyvern issue, and his blasted marriage prospects) and the late summer heat worsening even though it was barely Verdant Rain Moon. It would be a relief to take a ride and talk to someone about migrant caravans, but he highly doubted it would be 'fun.'

His damn knees had gone weak in Ferdinand's office and hadn't really recovered. Stupid freckles. Stupid fire-golden hair, which was somehow just as tempting in a thick braid as it had been in its gentle, rolling waves. Stupid dimpled smile. What right did Ferdinand have, making Hubert's legs so weak without even trying?

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie heard the crash from her office and immediately went out into the hallway to see what was wrong. It hadn't sounded too violent, but she gripped her pocket knife in one hand, anyway.

She would never have expected the scene she found.

Things were quiet in the hall, except for other Imperial Household cipherers coming out of their offices just like she had. Hubert's door was already open, and inside, he was sitting on the floor, not moving to get up, not searching for something he'd dropped, just sitting with a couple of fallen books next to him.

"Uh… Marquis Vestra? Are you alright?" another cipherer asked. His name was Johann, and he'd told Bernie all about his two toddlers over the months.

Hubert didn't say anything intelligible.

If he was inside, and the door was still open, the warding charms were inactive. So Bernie crossed over the threshold. "Marquis Vestra? Did something happen?" she asked as she walked around to see him from the front. He looked dazed.

"What? ...No. No, I'm fine," Hubert told her, making no move to get up from the floor.

"Alright. Well, how are you feeling?" she asked as she crouched down. There was something wrong, there was something  _ off _ about his appearance, but she couldn't place it. Perhaps he was a little bit flushed, but wasn't everyone, in this heat?

"Tired? I'm fine; I'm going into town."

"Not in that state. You fell down; are you feeling more general weakness?" Unfortunately, out of the whole department, he was the most knowledgeable about poisons.

"No, I have to go. I feel fine, thank you, Bernadetta."

He had consistently called her Lady Aegir in front of her colleagues the whole time she'd been there, so he wasn't very aware of his surroundings. She held up three fingers. "How is your vision? How many fingers?"

"Mmn. I don't care. It doesn't matter."

Sweat dripped down the back of Bernie's neck, straight down her spine, and that was when she made the connection: Hubert wasn't sweating. His face was dry. But he hated the heat!

"Oh, Marquis Vestra, you have really done it now," she told him. She turned to the crowd that had gathered outside Hubert's door. "Just some heat troubles, no poison involved." She stood to get Hubert a glass of water. Speaking to the Minister of the Imperial Household again, she added, "You are far too proud for your own good, did you know that? Frankly, I'm a bit shocked that the Prime Minister didn't kidnap you himself and make you cool down." She put the glass down and unbuttoned Hubert's jacket, quickly pulling it from him in his daze, before handing him the water. "Now, you will drink all of that, and more, as well, when you're done, and if you persist in this state, I will take you down to the cold cellar and I won't worry at all about who sees you like this." She started untying one of his shoes. Hubert obediently sipped the water she'd given him.

When she'd removed his shoes, socks, neckband, and of course his jacket, she figured that was as much as modesty would allow. If he ended up in truly dire straits, she might take his vest too, but she didn't want to take the glass from his hand when he'd regained a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead halfway into his second glass of water.

The spectacle of it had lost its appeal for her coworkers, but she begged some salty snacks off one of them and got Hubert to munch on some rosemary almonds so his body would take in the water better.

"This is irresponsible of me," Hubert said when he was certainly not entirely better. He was still sitting on the floor. "I-- had a meeting. I need to meet my agent."

Bernie put a hand on his shoulder and didn't let him stand. He was weak in his illness, and she won easily. "You are not going anywhere unless it is to rest," she told him. "You collapsed from the heat, Marquis Vestra; I am not sending you outside to collapse again."

"A lovely sentiment, but you know I'm the only one who can do this," he told her with a glare that was made entirely ineffective by the fact that he was half-dressed and didn't seem to even notice.

"Unless it is a very serious meeting, indeed, I think anyone in your department could go in your stead," Bernie said. "I would gladly go if it keeps you from overheating twice in one day."

She watched Hubert consider his options. There were any number of reasons why he would have to be the only one to go. Perhaps some magic was needed, or there would be some interrogation, or knowing Hubert's face alone was a security risk.

"You don't even have a codename," he said at last.

"You never asked for one," Bernie told him. "I picked one long ago. I am the Lioness."

Hubert did that breathy chuckle that came out when he couldn't avoid laughing entirely. "It's terrible. I love it. Keep it," he ordered. "Help me to my desk?"

She trusted him more than earlier not to try to leave. Of course, if he was really determined, he would find a way to go, but listening to her at all was a good sign. She helped haul him to his feet and walked him to his desk. He didn’t need to lean on her, but she was there just in case.

He put some dark green Vestra wax on his wax heater, richer and more lustrous than the green seals his agents sent, and penned a quick letter. He poured the wax onto the unfolded page and stamped it with his seal. Then he handed the page to Bernie and said, "Take that to my driver when you go. Shut the door and we will discuss the meeting."

So Bernie went and shut the door.

"The Rat is meeting me at the Drunken Dog; the driver knows the way. Room number four is reserved for our meeting. He has been stationed in a migrant merchant caravan. News from all around. Take your notebook and report back to me when you return; I will have recovered sufficiently for your exacting standards by then."

He managed a half-decent glare, but in just his shirt and vest, he looked like a schoolboy, hardly a threat. And they'd been working on intimidation, besides.

"I will return when I can, then," Bernie promised cheerfully. "If you have any more dizziness or faintness, or if you need extra help, please go directly to the infirmary; they should be able to help you more there." She stood to leave.

"And take these," Hubert said, and pulled a package with a letter tied to it from under his desk, and then unlocked a drawer to produce a purse like the one Bernie had seen when an agent had interrupted their meeting. "He will expect them."

"I am happy to deliver them," Bernie promised. "You do not need to worry, Hubert; if I am still unable to do a simple interview with a willing informant, then what have you been teaching me all this time?" She took the items, waited to see if Hubert remembered anything else, and walked cheerfully and confidently out of the room.

She hadn't locked her room when she left it (a pretty huge oversight on her part), but everything seemed to be in order when she walked in. She grabbed her notebook and a pencil, double-checked her things, tucked the purse into her reticule, and made sure to lock her door before leaving.

.-._.-._.-._

_ My good friend, _

_ I am not always certain why I continue to write to you when I have been laboring under the assumption you have burnt all my letters. I suppose I hope for your return because, as much as you pretend to hate work, you are like me: utterly devoted to your cause and unwilling to make compromises to suit other people's ideas of who you are meant to be. _

_ I have heard much about your wedding, from your parents' reactions to the congratulatory letter Her Highness of Brigid sent to our Emperor. You know I am never above gloating to the Seven, but even if I were not, I would offer you and your husband my sincerest congratulations on what any sensible person can see is one of the finest matches in the history of Adrestia. Ferdinand has already raised the topic in his Ministry, though I am sure it will be some time before we see the fruits of these efforts. In the meantime, I suppose there is nothing to be done but to offer you a small, not-too-overwhelming reception with your former classmates if you ever decide to return to Enbarr; we all understand how important it was for you and Caspar to pursue your love in whatever way you saw fit. _

_ Her Imperial Majesty is well, but she does show signs of the stress her crests put on her body. I sometimes wonder, when I am struck by the urge to write to you, whether you would try to help her or study her if you were to return. It always seemed to me that you were much kinder and gentler than you liked us to think you were. Your tireless efforts to save us -- from our enemies, but also from our own hubris -- are the reason we all survived the War intact. _

_ Perhaps not quite intact. I know some of us still suffer from bad dreams, and I know that wandering with no money and no home and then eloping without even writing to your friends are not the actions of two people who are completely well. But we are certainly all alive, and you were always the one to remind us that sometimes, that is enough. _

_ When it comes down to it, my business is stability, so I must once again ask you: return to your land. Accept your father's title. If he did not want you to inherit from him, he would have found someone else in the year since you picked up and left. You and your husband are not the only people hurt by the war, but while I will concede you are the expert on physical healing, I will still insist that the type of healing we need after those five years can only be done together. When it weighs too heavy on you, come back, whether you intend to work or not. Whatever terms you demand, I will help you with them. It would be good to have you return to your land and your born duty, but it would be just as good to have you return to us, your friends, under whatever circumstances you can accept. _

_ Hubert _

_ P.S. Please consider the attached a wedding gift. I apologize for its tardiness; I only heard rumors of your elopement, so I had no forewarning of the date. Best of luck to you and yours, and eternal peace in your home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope your Tuesday goes well. Next week's chapter will have even more discussion of hands because I'm autistic and hands are the most expressive part of the body to me.


	15. An Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert gives his answer to Ferdinand's question. Bernadetta accidentally reveals a detail of her abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had four Tuesdays in a row, so in celebration of waking up and feeling happy and hopeful and GOOD for the first time in four years, and in celebration of the timeline righting itself, have a bonus chapter midweek. With some touch-starved Hubert as a bonus!
> 
> The short scene at the end doesn't really fit into this chapter, but it doesn't really fit into the next chapter, either. It was always meant as a sort of in-between or aside, so a faster update schedule works better for it, anyway.
> 
> Regular Tuesday updates will resume on Tuesday. I just really want to celebrate with everyone, and I live far enough away from a city that I didn't get to join in the public partying.

Thursday's coffee break was indoors, in a small reading room on the north side of the Palace, which told Hubert everything he needed to know about what his meddling assistant had told her overeager husband.

(Frustration warred with gratitude in his heart, along with everything else he was already feeling.)

"You haven't brewed coffee?" Hubert observed as he came up silently behind Ferdinand to startle him. "What a shame. You are generally more thoughtful."

Ferdinand did jump, but Hubert could hear his smile as he said, "You have been in poor health, my friend. I could not serve you a drink that would only dry you out."

"You really are confident that I will agree to your proposal," Hubert tried as he sat down. Surely, drinking coffee was better than drinking nothing, which he would almost certainly do with this tea.

"I am concerned about you surviving the summer, Hubert. You cannot tax your body like this. So, as this heat has held, I thought some Fraldarius-style barley tea would suit us well. It is very refreshing."

Hubert began to remove his gloves. At least the tea was nothing fruity or oversweet. He would have to brew his afternoon caffeine himself. "Well, I suppose that resolves the question I came here to answer," he pointed out as he began putting small, savory pastries on his plate. "If we are already bickering, we may as well do what our good friends from the Academy did and say we are irreparably involved no matter what we do."

Ferdinand laughed at that. He always was an easy target for a joke. "What, and elope to Brigid? ...Or perhaps wait six years to do so, to see how we feel about it?" His eyes sparkled as he said, "I would not interfere with your life or career, Hubert. I only hope you will share your time with me as much as you can."

Ferdinand reached out and Hubert gave him his hand. He had never seen those eyes shine with affection for anyone but Bernadetta. When Ferdinand lifted Hubert's bare fingers to his soft mouth, it was something out of a dream. It was something beyond reality.

It was more than he could stand.

"You are too forward," Hubert said as he snatched his hand back. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it would be better for him to continue guarding his heart more carefully. It always was his weakest point. "It is enough to make a man suspect insincerity." Ferdinand had never been insincere for three minutes of his life, but Hubert cradled his hand against his chest like it had been burned. His hands were barely tolerable to look at; how dare Ferdinand kiss them so easily, like they were something precious?

He felt like a monster when Ferdinand's face fell. He felt like he'd kicked a cat, metaphorically. Should he apologize? He hadn't said anything untrue.

"I have not started a relationship like this in some time," Ferdinand said quietly, smiling to mask his obvious disappointment. Hubert was such a dick. "What would you find appropriate?"

"You may kiss my hands through my gloves," Hubert said, which he predicted would be less of a problem. The shape of his hands was normal and fine; the gray undertones of his fingers were decidedly unusual and corrupt. "We will see what else you can do while we enjoy our box together."

That brought a blush to those freckled cheeks and gave Hubert time to eat. There were squash and cheese pastries that were rich and refreshing at once, and Hubert took a second almost as soon as he'd bitten into the first. If that left none for Ferdinand, it served him right for making Hubert's heart beat so fast.

"Speaking of Caspar and Linhardt, I sent your gift along with mine," Hubert mentioned between bites. "And Count Hevring has been seen with a new aide, with rumors the younger man was already a mayor or some such in the county, so perhaps this dilemma will finally be solved the easy way, after all."

Ferdinand laughed briefly, but he was not so overbearingly intense as he had been before. "So, convincing Linhardt to claim the title he was promised since birth is no longer 'the easy way'? Have a bit more faith, Hubert!"

"Anything that resolves this issue is 'the easy way,'" Hubert admitted. "The only person on the continent more stubborn than Linhardt is the man he inherited his temperament from. I suppose he finally realized Lin has decided never to do anything that might make even a minor impact on the world. I am only looking forward to the public denouncement and appointment ceremony so I can take every letter I have ever had on this topic and lock it away to be burned when I die."

Ferdinand laughed even more, which meant Hubert had properly portrayed his frustration.

"Logistics was never his passion, anyway," Hubert continued. "El nearly created a crest research position for him, but why continue coddling him? Better to let him come crawling back when the money runs out and he realizes the world isn't actually that kind or indifferent."

Ferdie was frowning at him. "Well, the 'why' seems obvious," he said. "He saved our lives a hundred times over in the War. I woke more than once, after resigning myself to death, to find myself hale and whole. That is the debt owed him. But I do wish he would grow up and take responsibility for something more mundane than a mortal wound, and I know he will not. I do hope he and Caspar figure out some way to make a difference, though. Even if they wander about fighting bandits and offering healing services to the small-town peasantry, that would not be a terrible life. But I do wish they would strive for a greater impact."

"Oh, we all do," Hubert agreed. "Let us not speak of them, though; I will only get frustrated. Let us speak of us."

Ferdinand looked down very prettily under his long amber lashes. "I am afraid to compliment you as I wish, lest I distress you again," he admitted. "You are exceedingly handsome, but I know nobody has ever told you as they should."

"No, I know you," Hubert reminded his friend. "In your eyes, everyone you love is exceedingly beautiful. I cannot say I have run into the same luck; I could only fall in love when your beauty, as well as your mind, were unmatched."

Ferdinand looked up, startled, as if he hadn't handled Hubert's hand so tenderly before, as if he didn't know how Hubert had pined after him. "I am not used to receiving such compliments," he admitted. "Tell me more."

"Your blush in the summer," Hubert said. "Under your summer freckles and tan. Your skin already has such a lovely golden quality to it, and the blood rising to your cheeks sets your freckles alight." Ferdie's blush went from pink to red as he spoke, so he was doing something right. "And your lips. I am not certain I have ever seen freckles on someone's lips before." He let his eyes linger on those lips as he complimented them.

"They are new," Ferdinand told him, touching his own lips delicately. "They started this year. I believe it is my skin aging."

"I am very tempted to kiss them," Hubert replied. He reached across the table. "Tell me, do your hands have such lovely freckles? Or are they always hidden from the sun under your gloves?" Ferdinand had offered his hand readily, but looked distinctly uncomfortable as Hubert inspected it for freckles. It did look strangely pale when Hubert compared it to the man's face. He gave the hand back, still smiling. "I am especially in love with your summer colors, Ferdinand: the golden tinge to your skin, the way the sun lights your hair like fire when the heat returns to tolerable levels and you can wear it loose again, the way you blush so much easier than you do in winter. It is your season."

“I get your meaning,” Ferdie told him, looking distinctly embarrassed. “I will not be so free with my compliments so early on.”

Hubert hadn’t been speaking with any double meanings. He had been unfortunately honest. But at least he probably knew how Ferdinand had felt before, when he snatched his hand away. “Tell me about the opera,” he said instead of admitting that he was sincere. “Dorothea is still on tour, right? Who will play the leading lady if not our own personal favorite?”

“Dorothea may be permanently playing the role of Princess-Consort of Brigid,” Ferdinand told him. “I had a letter yesterday. A tragedy for the artistic world, to be sure, but if we are to speak of our friends finding their places in the world, it seems much more suited to her than even the operatic career of her dreams.”

Warning flags went up in Hubert’s head. “I hope she chooses otherwise,” he admitted. “Not because I wish her and Petra any hardship, of course. Frankly, she would be brilliant in a political career.” Ferdinand looked scandalized, like he was going to jump in with a contradiction as soon as Hubert stopped talking. “But it seems to me she deserves to have some part of her life that is not defined by who she loves. I suppose she was independent during the War, more or less, but that was miserable; I would like her to be happy and without obligation now that it’s over.” He took a sip of his tea, forgetting it wasn’t coffee, and said, “Oh, this is actually good.”

“Do you not think it romantic, though?” Ferdinand all but yelled. “For a woman of her skills to move from bedding her patron out of obligation to marrying no less than the Crown Princess of Brigid for love? It is something from a fairy tale!”

“I was never a fan of tales,” Hubert reminded his… friend? “What’s more, she, like us, has several decades of living left to do, a fact I have been trying unsuccessfully to impress upon my aunts.”

“I can offer you no advice on courting,” Ferdinand told him, but his smile said he found Hubert’s ongoing engagement dilemma endlessly amusing. “Bernie and I were rushed into marriage directly without understanding what it meant. I get the feeling you will be dragged into it kicking and screaming, also without understanding what it means.”

“Could you offer advice on how to court  _ you?” _ Hubert asked, relishing Ferdinand’s surprised pause as he processed the question.

“That is unnecessary,” Ferdinand said. The words flew out of his mouth at lightning speed. “Just keep spending time with me. That is enough.”

“Do you like gifts?” Hubert pushed. “You still carry your engagement gift from Bernadetta.” He’d had it on his person, just by chance, when Hubert had raised the topic of interviewing her.

“I would not turn down a small remembrance, but I treasured her letters and our rides together just as much,” Ferdinand insisted. “I truly do not need--”

“Shall I plan our next evening out, then? Take you to a museum or concert in exchange for those opera tickets?” He would have to ask around about which shows and events were popular. “I do intend to court you  _ some  _ way.”

"I have never been courted," Ferdinand confessed. "Bernadetta is not one for grand displays of affection. I courted her a bit, directly after our marriage, but she was still scared of me then." He startled, his back straightening, and asked, "Oh, is it rude to mention her? I do not know the etiquette for this sort of thing."

Hubert couldn't help smiling. Here they were, carrying on together with Bernadetta's blessing, stumbling through introductory-level courting that Ferdinand would surely tell her about that night, and Ferdinand wanted to know if Hubert's favorite assistant was unmentionable between them.

"She is your wife and my friend," Hubert reminded Ferdie. "We are here only because of her. In two ways, actually; we are having this conversation because she raised the topic with you, and we are in this room because she is ruthlessly meddlesome."

"She said you could hardly move when she found you," Ferdinand told him.

An unflattering, gossiping, enraging woman. "I could move! I simply felt no motivation to do so."

"She had to remove your outerwear herself and you gave her no resistance," Ferdinand pointed out, because Bernadetta had no reservations whatsoever about completely embarrassing Hubert in front of the man he was trying to court.

"That is called oversharing. It was embarrassing enough the first time," Hubert said. "Anyway, I am well now." He had another sip of his tea, as if to prove his point.

“You are well enough,” Ferdinand conceded. “You could use a break, though. You have brought two people in since you last complained to me: Bernie and that redheaded woman. You still cannot even take a long weekend?”

“I am accompanying you to the opera; is that not enough?” Hubert asked. Yes, he would be working extra hours until Saturday to compensate, but that was just his life right now. And it did keep his aunt Clara from pushing him too hard, though Aunt Yanni still insisted a wife would help somehow.

Someday, he’d have to figure out how to sic his aunts on each other. Doubtless, they already discussed his bachelor status behind his back, but if there was a way to turn them on each other such that they each complained about the other one instead of him, he would gladly deal with the fallout.

Ferdinand smiled at him a little sadly and said, “You know I worry about you,” and then took Hubert’s hand and just held it a few seconds. “You will make yourself quite sick if you continue taking such bad care of yourself in this heat. We are not Academy students any longer, Hubert. There is no urgency of war to excuse the way you push yourself. Allow yourself to be paid back for your hard work with some time to relax.”

“I will,” Hubert promised. He squeezed Ferdinand’s fingertips lightly and felt the other man respond. “I just… can’t yet. I may be able to partially resolve Almyra soon, but… I think you’re right. I won’t last like this. Just tell me about the opera so I can indulge in a bit of escapism.” Self-pity wasn’t like him. It had been such a long summer, though. Five years of war, a winter of nonstop international and internal concerns, and now a string of heat waves when he still wasn’t fully staffed. Anyone would collapse.

"How many times must I remind you that Almyra is not your theatre?" Ferdinand scolded, but there was no bite to it. He rubbed Hubert's fingertips gently between his own. "We have offered our support with the wyvern situation, and they seem to be accepting. By all means, keep an eye out for any duplicitousness, but Hubert, it is a straightforward problem of laws that are difficult to enforce."

"It all  _ seems _ well," Hubert said, because Ferdinand wouldn't take well to the knowledge that some of the "illegal" wyvern breeding eyries were funded by the Almyran government. He needed to stop mentioning Almyra as his concern until that information was ready to come to light. "Still, I cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss."

"Things are amiss in you," Ferdinand told him. His voice was still gentle, his sturdy fingers still holding Hubert's slender ones. "Things are amiss in your stomach, which you do not feed; and your limbs, which you do not exercise; and your bed, which you do not sleep in. Everything will feel amiss until you care for yourself. Molehills will seem to be mountains, as is normal when one's body is unwell. But let me tell you about this new opera: it is primarily a musical revue, and I know you prefer a good plot, but the songs are supposed to be strikingly beautiful. A band of minstrels in Dagda misreads their map and spends a night in a small town in the desert instead of a larger city having an arts festival, and the play is mostly their reflections on life and love and art. The lovers are older, middle-aged, an eatinghouse owner and the leader of the band, and the music is said to be very sophisticated. Dorothea heard it in workshop and said she was very impressed, and her recommendations have never steered me wrong."

"We will have to toast the new Princess-Consort of Brigid from our box, then," Hubert suggested.

Ferdinand smiled at him, and Hubert let himself enjoy the attention he was getting and the beauty of his conversation partner. It was difficult after blocking out those feelings for so long. "I thought you were betting against a marriage," Ferdinand said.

"Betting and hoping are different things," Hubert reminded him. "It will be a happy marriage, regardless, but I just hope Dorothea does not look back and wish she had taken her time."

“Oh, Hubert. I must insist you stop worrying about other people’s problems. That is what got you into trouble in the first place, is it not?” Ferdinand asked. He squeezed Hubert’s fingertips between his own. “If you will not take this time to relax, then what time  _ will  _ you take?”

“The opera, clearly,” Hubert joked. He raised Ferdinand’s hand to his lips and kissed those long fingers. He couldn’t imagine it made a terribly attractive picture, Ferdinand’s skin-colored hand held in his stained one, but it would have to do. He idly inspected the pale hand in his, the dozen small scars, the red-gold hair, the thick but finely manicured nails, the lance wielder’s calluses. Details he could never see from across a table. An honest man’s hand. A hand larger than his own in all dimensions, with thick skin that didn't go slick and strange with summer sweat. "You will just have to ensure that sharing a box is a relaxing experience."

Ferdinand's hand twitched and Hubert let him take it back. "What do you think would relax you?" he asked in about as low a voice as he could manage.

It was adorable, really, Ferdinand trying to sound mature and sexy. So Hubert decided to tease him and said, "Well, I think watching the opera should be plenty, don't you think? Wouldn't want anyone to get any ideas about us…"

"Then, perhaps a bottle of wine and some snacks, and then retire to your house for a bit after the show? You never were a fan of a big evening out."

"Your house is closer," Hubert pointed out.

"Your house is private," Ferdinand countered, and that was when Hubert realized Ferdinand had  _ invited himself to Hubert's room _ and Hubert hadn't so much as batted an eye.

When did Ferdinand get smooth?

"That is-- if you would prefer the security of having people around, I-- I certainly did not intend to be too forward, only to suggest that--"

Hubert smiled to himself. Good; Ferdie hadn't attained any actual flirting skills without Hubert noticing. "My place it is, then," he agreed, and Ferdinand grinned at him. "What are your plans for when we're alone?"

Ferdinand took a bite of a sandwich, probably so he could take his time considering his answer. "If we feel… sufficiently close, after the opera… I should like to kiss you."

Hubert would like to kiss Ferdinand immediately and with haste, but he appreciated Ferdie keeping enough of a level head to wait until they were somewhere private. "And then?" he asked. "What will be your next step?"

"It would not be wise to speak of our plans, even in a closed room," Ferdinand pointed out. "You, as spymaster, know this well."

Hubert shrugged and pulled out his notebook. He tore out a page bearing a silence sigil and placed it on the only door of the room using some of his power. Then he returned to his seat and said, "If you insist. Now: what will you do to me, alone in my bedroom?"

"You just keep spells on hand, as if it were nothing?" Ferdinand asked, looking scandalized.

Hubert rolled his eyes. "Clearly not," he corrected his friend. "I keep spells on hand as if they are important, in my private notebook that does not leave my person. The privacy ward is a traditional Vestra sigil and I value it very highly. I also value your company very highly." He took a bite of a sandwich.

"...Does it hurt?" Ferdinand asked after a long moment, and Hubert realized he was looking at his hands, freshly stained from magic use. Visually, they weren't much different from before, but surely Ferdinand imagined they looked much darker, much grayer.

"We agreed many months ago not to discuss the color of my hands," Hubert reminded his probably-not-a-boyfriend. "That is still a condition of my attendance at our coffee breaks. I will remove myself if you follow this line of inquiry."

"I did not mention the color," Ferdinand pointed out, aiming the full force of his soft, sympathetic eyes at Hubert. "Does using your power in that way hurt you?"

Hubert looked down and finally admitted, "Only a bit. Only for a moment. The feel of it is…" He reached for Ferdinand's hand, which he readily received, and lightly smacked just the fingertips. "That is all," he said, giving Ferdinand his hand back. "These are not the days of battle magic anymore. It is one door and its jamb." There were times during the War when his hands would be numb for days, when the stains would travel up to his shoulders, when it seemed he would always be steeped in dark magic and would perhaps become something other than human through its use. But the War had been over for a year, and the gray tendrils of his corruption only extended halfway up his forearms most days, and sometimes he could swear he saw a red or purple tinge on his fingertips, as if there was color waiting underneath to come out.

"Then, when we are alone in your suite, I would like to kiss your soft hands with your gloves off," Ferdinand told him, smiling mischievously like he had some much longer piece to say.

"Stop," Hubert said. He couldn't bring his voice up to volume. Ferdinand didn't mean what he said.

"I would like to thank those hands for all they have done to protect--"

"Stop. Stop it. You don't mean that."

Ferdinand's face fell, but he didn't look sad or disappointed. He looked very sincere. "I do mean it," he promised quietly. "But I hear you: I will kiss your hands only through your gloves, and only when you allow it." His eyes lingered on Hubert's hands for a split second before returning to Hubert's face, and Hubert slipped his hands under the table. Repulsive things. Fit to make a suitor like Ferdinand gag if he looked too close.

Did Ferdinand count as a suitor if they could never marry?

"What would you do to me, alone in your room?" Ferdinand asked, salvaging the conversation as Hubert seriously considered leaving.

"I would do a good deal more than kiss you, if you would allow it," Hubert admitted, but re-engaging didn't mean he wouldn't leave early. "I have waited some time for the opportunity, so I fear I would move too quickly if I took the lead." He would at least like them both to have their shirts off, though. He couldn't expect things to move quickly with an honorable man like Ferdinand, but without marriage on the table, what was the use of holding back his desires? No-- that wasn't it. Without the need to  _ get to know each other _ , what was the use of holding back? "But I would like to see the proper, buttoned-up Prime Minister without all his layers. You wear your clothing like very flattering armor, and I should like to see the precious body underneath."

"Not so precious anymore," Ferdinand said, smiling like it was some sort of joke. "Five years on the front lines do leave an impact. I would not want you to expect smooth, unmarred skin."

"Oh, have I managed to hit on the Prime Minister's insecurity?" Hubert teased. "Shall I threaten to kiss your battle scars tenderly and with unabashed affection in revenge for what you said about my hands?"

"Do not joke about such things," Ferdinand scolded. Hubert wanted to wipe the nervous smile off his face. "I only want to ensure you will not be shocked when you see me, whether it is on Saturday or at a later date."

"Then I will not speak of them," Hubert promised, "though I always imagined your broad chest and strong arms would carry scars very well." And those massive thighs, too. "I will wait for your cue even if I find them handsome."

Ferdinand laughed a little, nervously, but said nothing.

"If the lovers in the show are older, do you suppose Manuela would try for the part?" Hubert asked. He hated seeing Ferdinand so nervous; it didn't suit him at all.

"If they do another season, she may, but I am not certain when her tour ends, especially with Dorothea leaving," Ferdinand told him, gracefully accepting the subject change. "I hope she will, though. Did I ever tell you that she was my first love?"

"You are constantly falling in love, it seems," Hubert told him. "How old were you?"

"Oh, a child," Ferdinand said. "It was just puppy love. I was young enough that I still thought I might grow up into a great soprano, like her."

"In your spare time, when you weren't being Prime Minister," Hubert suggested. "When I was young, I used to want to be a pegasus knight."

"But you can barely stand a Morfis pony!" Ferdinand blurted out.

"I was less intimidated by heights at the time," Hubert admitted. "I was less aware of what they can do. And the swaying, too; I am told I greatly enjoyed boat rides before I was about six or so."

Ferdinand laughed from deep in his chest and Hubert didn't try to hide his smile. "Perhaps I was always destined to be smitten with a cavalryman," Hubert suggested, if only to reignite Ferdinand's blush.

"And I have always appreciated elegance," Ferdinand told him, his voice warm and soft, "possessing so little of it myself."

"Elegance wouldn't look well on you, anyway," Hubert pointed out. "It would make you seem pompous, like Gloucester. You have always struck me as very solid, very straightforward. When you were younger, it made you seem naive, but now it just makes you seem… trustworthy. Dependable. You have seen many of the same horrors I have, but they have made you realistic instead of jaded. I will always prefer you to be exactly as you are."

"Are you willing to put that in writing?" Ferdinand challenged.

"Ah, of course!" Hubert said, stupidly opening his mouth while he had the revelation instead of after. "Love letters! What a charmingly classic way to court you."

"Oh…" Ferdinand looked like he was thinking, neither dismissive nor overwhelmed. "Yes, that would be lovely. I still pull out Bernadetta's letters from time to time, the ones from before we met as well as when we were separated during the War." He looked down at his plate and Hubert was struck again by how  _ pretty _ his eyelashes were. "I often wonder if she does the same, or if she just keeps them without reading them."

"Different people appreciate sentimental objects differently," Hubert reminded him. "It would not indicate any lack of affection for her to take comfort in the knowledge they were there."

"I know," Ferdinand told him, his eyes flicking up to meet Hubert's own. "But I do wonder if she has any favorites. She wrote some truly beautiful things to me when we were younger, and I wonder if anything I wrote has stuck in her mind." He smiled and added, "And I wonder if anything you write will stick in my mind. I wonder what shape your words will take without a thick veneer of formality." He looked down at Hubert's hands, briefly, and then back. "I wonder which sides of you will be exposed."

"If you feel so fondly about letters, then I will gladly await yours," Hubert told him. "Perhaps they will uncover some parts of yourself that you've honed your speech to hide." He looked down at Ferdinand's ascot, just for a moment, and hoped his meaning was clear. He let his eyes linger just a moment longer on Ferdinand's brooch than Ferdinand had spent looking at his hands.

"Would you come look at a book with me, away from the window?" Ferdinand asked, looking him directly in the eye, and a fresh sweat rose on the back of Hubert's neck and on his palms.

"Yes, I believe there are many worthy volumes," Hubert said, and then they both broke eye contact and scrambled out of their chairs, and then Ferdinand's warm body was pressing him against a bookshelf and a soft, wet mouth that tasted of berry tarts was pushing against his. A hand that could easily cradle the entire back of his head tangled itself in his damp hair as his own slender hands caressed Ferdinand's head and pulled it insistently closer. With their bodies pressed together, he could feel Ferdinand's  _ excitement _ as easily as he could feel his own, but he politely ignored both.

Ferdinand did not. Ferdinand rolled his hips against Hubert's, making him gasp. Hubert had barely managed to slip an arm around the man and lay a hand flat against his back to press that powerful body closer against him when Ferdinand's mouth strayed from his own and trailed down his jaw and onto his neck. Stubbly skin scratched against stubbly skin as their jaws rubbed against each other, and then his mouth busied itself with the soft skin of Ferdinand's neck as he breathed in the overwhelmingly masculine scent of Ferdinand's cologne. Hubert couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything so physical, much less something so all-consumingly  _ pleasant _ . He mostly thought of his body as a tool, the wielder of a knife or a spell, a pair of legs to get him from one place to the next. He hadn't thought of using his body as a conduit for  _ enjoyment _ or  _ affection _ in… He didn't think he had ever thought of it.

Now that he was aware of it, his skin burned with it everywhere Ferdinand touched him, which was everywhere. He wanted to push Ferdinand away, but he wanted him to keep going. He wanted to expose himself to the scintillating poison that was Ferdinand's touch, build up a tolerance as he had with so many more mundane substances. He wondered if his lips would be stung red with stubble or with the fire in his nerves when he was done kissing Ferdinand's neck and jaw.

Their lips returned to each other easily, automatically, as if Hubert could predict Ferdinand's movement from one simple twist of his neck. His skin was on fire. He didn't know how much longer he could last without pushing Ferdinand away and embarrassing himself. How long had it been? Perhaps a scant two minutes? Ferdinand surged up on his toes, pressing their hips together again, and Hubert pulled his head away too suddenly and knocked Ferdinand's fingers into the edge of a bookshelf.

Ferdinand cried out briefly, but then moved his hand to the back of Hubert's neck, which had only books behind it, much farther from his delicate fingers. "Was that too forward?" he asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Even if it was, should I do it again?"

Hubert wanted Ferdinand to have everything he wanted. He really did. But he was sure he would spontaneously combust, or suffer nerve damage, or develop some other burning skin condition if he stayed pressed close to Ferdinand any longer. His feelings warred with each other; he didn't know what to say.

Ferdinand stepped away, enough for Hubert to pull away from the bookshelf and still only feel that their clothes were touching, not their bodies. Strong hands lingered on his shoulders, but they didn't burn like they had when they were pulling him close, crushing him against that powerful chest. "Did I do something?" the incredibly handsome man in front of him asked with a concerned frown. "Stunned silence is not like you."

Gentle fingertips combed Hubert's bangs away from his bad eye and he flinched. He didn't mean to. He wanted Ferdinand to feel completely entitled to touch him however he liked. However overwhelmed he was, it wasn't like Ferdinand's touch would actually, physically harm him. It was just a feeling, and feelings were meant to be ignored.

"Come sit with me again," Ferdinand said, and guided Hubert back to his seat. Hubert's body moved jerkily, like he somehow couldn't remember the normal amount of muscle tension required for walking. Ferdie's hand on his shoulder burned through his jacket.

"I am very sorry I failed to notice," Ferdinand told him when they were both seated. They were sitting as if nothing had happened, as if an entire new world of carnal joy hadn't just been revealed. "I never meant to overwhelm you."

Hubert had imagined kissing Ferdinand many times. He'd imagined how it would look, like they were players acting it out. He thought he'd imagined the feeling of one body against another, though he'd never figured out how to imagine the feeling of one face on another. He had imagined he would be in control, dignified, older and more reserved. He couldn't have been more wrong.

When had he last been hugged?

"I should have thought," Ferdinand was saying. "You were so overwhelmed by a kiss on the hand. Of course a kiss on the mouth would draw a bigger reaction."

"It was not the kiss," Hubert said, and Ferdinand perked up, looked hopeful. A spaniel, indeed. "I… must admit to some inexperience. I do not think I have ever been pressed against someone like that."

"My apologies," Ferdinand said, and started straightening his jacket, his ascot, his sleeves. "It had not occurred to me. I will be gentler."

"It was exquisite," Hubert said before he could stop himself. When had his mouth started speaking on its own? Did he really sound so airheaded when he didn't carefully think through every word? "You should do it again. Just, maybe not today."

Ferdinand perked up at that. "Perhaps after the opera?" he asked.

"Definitely after the opera," Hubert managed to say. His thoughts returned to him in full and he added, "And I will come prepared with words that make you lose yourself just the same."

Ferdinand drained his teacup. "We should prepare to leave the room," he pointed out. "The weather can account for a bit of a flush, but Hubert, your mouth."

Hubert touched his lips, and then licked them. "What about my mouth?" he asked.

"It is more than flushed," Ferdinand told him, smiling. "Have some tea, finish your lunch, and we shall see how we recover." He smoothed his hands over his hair. It stayed in place easily, held down by the sweat everyone was soaked in.

The smell of Ferdinand -- his cologne, his sweat -- surrounded Hubert gently and it occurred to him that perhaps they should not have kissed on the neck. His own cologne was probably clinging to Ferdinand, in return, which would give them away much more impressively than lips that had gone red from being crushed against each other. He would have to figure out how they could be more subtle in future.

They wound down their coffee break by discussing seasonal flowers and foods, and as much as Hubert hated to admit it (and as much as it did nothing for his caffeine intake), he did find himself downing several cups of barley tea, which almost made up for the indignity of Ferdinand serving him water seasoned with a handful of toasted grain and calling it a beverage. When they were done, their complexions were back to normal and they both tugged their gloves on and didn't say a word about the insecurities they'd found underneath. It was business as usual, and Ferdinand was going to take his bachelor friend to the opera, one of the best places to mingle in high society, that weekend.

.-._.-._.-._

Tuesdays and Fridays were when they discussed intimidation: how to use it and how to resist it. Built into the lessons was how to resist interrogation, but as Hubert had said a month ago: she needed to be able to resist normal questions first.

"What topic will I try to pull from you today?" Hubert asked as they sat comfortably in his office. "Do you have any more tales from your salon?"

"No, everything is being rewritten right now," Bernie told him. "I was thinking we might discuss how letters are handled in Varley."

"How do you mean?" Hubert asked, which was a very transparent ploy.

"I have not fallen for that one in weeks," Bernie reminded him, smiling. "You will have to do better. I know it is mundane, but I think there will be material there."

"No, really, how do you mean?" Hubert asked. "This isn't a ploy; is there a special paper? Something to do with the wax, perhaps?"

"No, just the process for bringing them into the house," Bernie said. "Before they reached my sisters and me." She frowned and felt her forehead crease. "Is it too little information? I know, when I did the plot of that one opera, it was too much, but this should be similar enough to when we did the steps for brewing tea."

"No, I just… cannot think what you could mean aside from 'give people their envelopes.' What else could be involved with delivering mail?"

Bernie chuckled a little. "You will not get me by persisting in this," she assured him. "It is a very good ploy, though, if I were not expecting one."

"No, I mean-- mandrake," Hubert said, which was their word that meant they were stopping. "I really mean I have no idea what you are talking about."

"What happened to our letters before my sisters and I could read them," she said. "And before we could send them out. You know, since we were--" Hubert's face hadn't changed. He didn't look like she had clarified anything for him.

"Other parents… don't… read their children's letters… do they?" she guessed as the suspicion came over her. That was what made realization dawn over Hubert; his eyes widened and he leaned forward.

"No," he told her quietly. "No, my father did not read my letters unless I showed him. Not after I was old enough to read them myself."

And that was in House Vestra, where they felt information was everything. The house where Hubert was molded into a person who would do any nefarious deed for his lady. They still didn't read his letters there.

It was strange, but Bernie felt nothing. It had always been a fact, so beginning to think of her parents reading her letters as some sort of invasion of privacy would take time.

"It was just normal to us," she admitted. "Incoming letters went to our father, or our mother if he wasn't there. They always reached us with the seals broken. My letters from Ferdinand were discussed at the dinner table."

"Even your love letters?" Hubert asked quietly. He was good at not giving his feelings away, but the stiffness of his expression told Bernie he was horrified.

Bernie looked down, fiddled with her hands as they rested on her lap. "My father wanted to ensure everything went smoothly," she said. "As I told you when we first met: I would barely be marriageable now, and I was worse then, so he ensured my letters to Ferdinand would not embarrass me."

"Your outgoing letters, too?" Hubert asked, barely louder than a whisper.

"You read my outgoing letters now," she pointed out.

She had only meant to point out that it wasn't a big deal, that having your letters revised was entirely normal and expected to ensure you wouldn't send the wrong thing, but Hubert was quiet so long she looked up again, and he seemed a bit pale. "Forgive me, Bernadetta," he said, his voice still quiet. "I had no idea."

"It never bothered me here," she told him. "My outgoing letters are impersonal." It really felt like Hubert was helping her adjust to her role, not intrusively butting into her life. "But… Am I right in assuming that Ferdinand's letters from before our marriage would not have been revised by his father?" That would change them completely.

"It would be highly unlikely," Hubert told her. 

"And he… would be unaware, then, that my letters were so heavily edited." Had he responded to her, all that time ago, as if she had been the only author? "Oh, no wonder he wrote so carelessly! He thought I would be the only one to read them." Poor Ferdinand. He had been openly mocked around the dinner table without any way to know his letters would be read by the Count and Countess of Varley.

"Bernadetta, I need to apologize," Hubert told her. "The first time we met after the War, early this summer, I had some letters for you from your family. I suggested to you that I might have read them, even though I had no reason to. I had no idea how cruel that pretense was."

"Oh, they had already been read by my mother," Bernie reassured him. "I did always think it a great show of trust that Ferdinand never asked to see my letters, even when I used his wax and stamp. It is very strange to think it may have simply never occurred to him."

"It surely did not," Hubert told her. "You… may want to mention that to him. He mentioned to me just yesterday that he still reads your letters from time to time."

Bernie smiled. "I am glad to hear my name was not banished from your lips when the two of you were discussing your own relationship," she told him. "Or, I guess I am really glad that you can be your whole selves together. I will certainly tell Ferdinand; I was never hiding it from him."

"Perhaps we should not do interrogation today," Hubert suggested. "I think I would feel very intrusive trying to pull information out of you while thinking about how you were never allowed a private letter at home."

"If you like," Bernie told him. He didn't like to admit it, but he was very sensitive. He was very deeply impacted by other people's suffering, as much as he liked to mask it. There was certainly no shortage of deciphering to do, so she excused herself and went back to her office. The issue of letters and privacy turned over and over in her mind, as a curiosity, but she didn't feel very much about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope recent current events have been really heartening for you. I'll see you with the Ferdibert date (and some nice, E-rated content!) on Tuesday.


	16. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Hubert go out. Then they go in. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming! If you were only checking for updates on Tuesdays, go ahead and read the last chapter, because it was a celebratory bonus due to the next President not wanting me dead.
> 
> The opera Ferdinand and Hubert go to is "The Band's Visit," so if you want to know which song Ferdinand listens to four times, go ahead and look up the performance of "Omar Sharif" at the Tony's. The opera house is the San Francisco War Memorial Opera House, but with higher partitions between the boxes and a less disappointing ceiling.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing and editing it! Next chapter will have a lot more Fernadetta/trio action, but it will also be much sadder.

Ferdinand arrived at Hubert's house in good time to take him to the opera, and Hubert was ready to go, and when they arrived at the Royal Opera, he greatly enjoyed stepping out of the carriage with his date and being seen by half of society as they walked inside.

Summer nights were his favorite. They were cool without the threat of real cold that would make his knee seize. The formal layers he wore in public were less of a burden, and he could let his hair down in the way he now knew Hubert liked.

Hubert, for his part, did look less miserable. Ever since Monday evening, when Bernie had told him of Hubert's collapse, he'd been especially worried about his favorite spymaster. But Hubert cut a striking figure in dark Vestra green, looking sharper in the evening coolness than he had in weeks.

They dined at the cafe in the basement of the opera house, Ferdinand telling his friend all about the renovations that had been put in decades before they were born and pointing out his favorite details, particularly the gilded inset medallions on the ceiling of the entry hall. "We must get to our seats in plenty of time, though," he pointed out. "The stage is surrounded by gilded statuary, and the chandelier is like nothing else."

"I thought we fought for a new age of austerity," Hubert joked. "One where we do not flaunt that sort of wealth."

"All the more reason to appreciate existing art," Ferdie countered. "If a renovation now would be less grand, then we must appreciate the grandeur while it is still here. I am as opposed to that sort of grotesque opulence as anyone, but as the details of the opera house are quite literally nailed down, and would not be better served by sitting in a museum not intended to hold them, I still think they should stay here. There is nothing like the experience of seeing it all together in the shape it was intended to be in." And, anyway, plenty of regular people came to the opera. Schools took day trips to look at the architecture and discuss the history of the building, or even to allow the children to see matinees of shows that were appropriate for them. Ferdinand certainly understood that the less stratified society they were trying to build would include fewer grand buildings with every detail meticulously decorated, and he liked knowing that the money formerly spent on displays of Adrestia's wealth would go into serving their people, instead, but he had always had a great appreciation for beauty and he hoped that more public buildings would still be beautified in their new Empire. As a boy, he had always been overwhelmed by the wealth of beautiful things to look at in the opera house, and he hoped the future would include public sites that inspired that sort of wonder.

They had a nice, light dinner and Ferdinand had their wine sent up to his box to finish during the show. Then he and Hubert wandered the opera house, pointing out their favorite details and greeting other members of society by turns. For all Hubert's worrying, he did seem popular with young women and even their chaperones, which Ferdinand did not hesitate to point out as they settled into their box. Hubert's response was some vague grumbling.

"What did I tell you?" he asked as they looked out over the stage and the front rows. "Is it not delightful to look at?" There was statuary of horses and their riders framing each side of the proscenium arch, painted entirely gold, with the arch itself probably standing five feet wide, gilded and painted, and a gold curtain covering the stage. The ceiling was painted with an elaborate sky scene, with an artsy chandelier that seemed to glow from within. The boxes and mezzanine had the same heavy, elaborate molding as the arch below, making the boxes, especially, look like little jewel boxes that only incidentally held people.

"It is certainly grand," Hubert admitted. "You said the opera is set in the middle of nowhere in the desert?"

Ferdie slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, come off it. Stories in every setting are shown here; it may as well be beautiful."

"I can think of something even better to look at," Hubert told him, almost under his breath.

"Oh?"

"You."

_ Oh _ .

Ferdie gave Hubert a good shove, then, and Hubert responded in kind.

The lights flickered and the band began the cacophony of noises that meant they were getting into tune with each other. Ferdinand busied himself with pouring them both glasses of wine while Hubert pulled a pair of opera glasses, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and red enamel, out of a pocket. The audience burst into applause as the conductor walked out into the orchestra pit, and Ferdinand clapped for a few seconds before pulling his own opera glasses from his breast pocket.

Music, something that sounded a bit like Fódlan orchestration but with definite Dagdan flourishes and a few foreign instruments, drifted up to them as people settled into their seats and finished their conversations. Ferdinand reached for Hubert's hand to hold and Hubert pulled his hand away, muttering "The other boxes can see."

Well. At least they'd been able to hold hands in the carriage, even if Hubert hadn't let him kiss his hand. Maybe he would allow it on the ride back to Hubert's house, since it would be completely dark outside.

The curtain rose on the titular band, singing their confusion about arriving in Dagda with nobody to greet them and book them passage to the arts festival where they planned to perform, and Ferdinand scoped out every detail of their matching costumes. He and Hubert whispered back and forth about details of the costumes and sets, especially when the scene changed to a remote village in Dagda and the villagers who lived there, and at the end of the first act, the cafe owner and the band leader sang a recitative about the woman’s early life and the popular touring groups they had both seen. As the cafe owner sang her aria about how even the filtered-down arts that had reached the small village had touched her life, exposing her passionate heart to the band leader who had become almost jaded to the impact of his art and nearly moving Ferdinand to tears in the process, he reached out and Hubert did let him grab his hand.

He abandoned Hubert's hand at the end of the song to give a standing ovation, as did many other patrons, and the alto playing the cafe owner smiled and nodded and half-curtseyed to the audience and then she and the aging tenor began the scene over so everybody could hear that striking, enchanting song again.

That scene, alone, was performed four times, and Ferdinand was in the group that booed when the conductor tried to move on after the third time, even as Hubert laughed at him. When they finally lowered the curtain for intermission, Hubert leaned toward him to say, "You really do get everything you want, don't you?"

“What else could possibly be the point of becoming Prime Minister?” Ferdie sniped back. “But you have to admit: anyone with a heart would want to hear that one several times over.”

“It struck you very deeply,” Hubert observed casually, clapping but staying seated.

"I could have listened ten times," Ferdinand told him as the audience members began to mill about. "Though I do admit there is a point when you become more curious about the plot than enamoured of the song. I will have to bring Bernie to see this, though."

"Do you think we should go out and talk to people?" Hubert asked, and had a sip of wine. "It seems like the thing to do, but I have never enjoyed it."

"If it would not be fun, then that defeats the purpose," Ferdinand declared, and picked up his glass to tap it against Hubert's. "Though, if you are only staying holed up in our box to avoid the women openly and happily flirting with you, I may have to parade you about again. The opera is the perfect place for that." He had told Hubert he wouldn't interfere in his life, after all, and he had been sincere. If he could date Hubert while staying happily married to Bernadetta, there was no reason Hubert couldn't date him while pursuing courtship and marriage.

"They enjoyed flirting with the Marquis of Vestra, but I was not so certain they enjoyed flirting with Hubert," Hubert told him, smiling like his self-deprecation was some sort of amusing joke.

"I think they would greatly enjoy flirting with Hubert if you put in any effort whatsoever to flirt back," Ferdinand declared. He lowered his voice and asked, "Are you afraid I will be jealous?"

"I would know if you were," Hubert told him, in a low voice with his lips barely moving. "You would make those sad puppy-dog eyes at me, like a child. So it must not bother you."

"I truly do not want you to think this will limit you," Ferdinand assured him. There was a need for a Marquesa of Vestra, as much as Ferdinand tried to reassure his friend the decision didn't need to be hasty.

"I do prefer to keep to myself, though," Hubert said, which settled it.

"Then we will stay here," Ferdie responded, and had a sip of his wine. "How are you liking the opera so far?"

Hubert shrugged and shifted so he was sitting diagonally in his seat. He looked entirely more casual than Ferdinand had ever seen when he was sober. "It is entirely agreeable. The cast is excellent, the score is impressive… And it brings out your passionate side, which I enjoy seeing. A fine experience, and I am seated in the best seat in the house."

"Center orchestra is debatably better," Ferdie pointed out. "It does get a bit crowded, though." For himself, especially before he inherited, he had never minded orchestra seats. They were fun and immersive. But a box put him on the same floor as his peers, and Bernadetta greatly preferred the privacy. It seemed Hubert did, too.

"Not for a view of the actors," Hubert said, and raised his eyebrows.

"You never stop flirting, do you?" Ferdinand asked, animated but keeping his voice as low as possible. "One flimsy velvet curtain and you act like we are in complete privacy!"

"You spent five years developing that ass," Hubert pointed out, grinning fiendishly. "The least I can do is appreciate it."

That was just  _ silly _ , which Ferdie pretty much never expected from his friend, so he slammed his wine glass down on the table as he doubled over with laughter in his seat.

"All those standing ovations and you never wondered why I didn't bother joining you?"

"You are an absolute rascal," Ferdie accused. "You will be the death of me!"

"Then we shall have to put you face-down in your coffin to ensure we show off your best features," Hubert retorted.

"If you do not stop, I will kiss your hand and bring scandal down on both of us," Ferdie promised.

"You will not," Hubert countered, with a very bored eye roll. "You would never let this impact Bernadetta. Adorable that you tried to threaten me, though."

"I will have to wait until we reach your room, then," Ferdinand promised. "And I will find a much more intimate way to scandalize you." If he could not remove those damnable gloves, perhaps he would still be allowed to kiss the tips of the dark magic marks hidden under Hubert's shirt. Or… Hubert had gotten overwhelmed just by being kissed for a couple minutes. Perhaps he would respond well to some light bragging from Ferdinand about his endurance? Would that be too much on the heels of Hubert's collapse from heat illness just that Monday? There was such a fine line between the amount of teasing that Hubert found jocular and engaging, and the amount that made him fold up into himself and become guarded and quiet. It was Ferdinand's job to drive him mad by coming as close to that line as possible without crossing it.

"Oh-- one small detail," Hubert murmured. "You are not put off by thoron scars, are you? I have some large ones."

Ferdie looked at him, trying to gauge why the topic had only come up at the last minute. But Hubert looked just as relaxed as ever, so perhaps he really had forgotten. "They are entirely well," he reassured his friend. "Are they off-limits for my affection?"

"No. They are only magic scars," Hubert told him, which was confounding because then what was it about his hands that Hubert was so upset about? "I know Dorothea took to wearing gloves for hers, but I imagine even she minds them less now that the scar tissue has healed pale. It has been a year, after all."

"I will not bother about them unless you ask," Ferdinand assured him. He took up his wine glass again and chuckled as he remembered Hubert's commentary on his rear end. They would have a good time together if Hubert intended to get handsy; he had stayed in good riding form, even if his arms and chest had gotten a bit soft. "I do think you have made a false assumption about me, though," he told his friend. He made his voice as quiet as it would go to say, "I spent my entire life on this ass."

Hubert choked on his wine, which was the best reaction Ferdie could have hoped for.

"I got my first pony when I was three, you know," Ferdie pointed out. "I am sure my legs are not quite what they were a year ago, but they are as fine as they can be, considering."

"I would much rather be safe than in peak physical condition," Hubert agreed. "My training was… Not less taxing than yours; I never liked the general understanding that magic is not a physical art. But at least, at the end of the day, we suffered many fewer sprains and pulls than your cavalry."

"It was clearly just as taxing," Ferdinand agreed. "At the end of the day, when we had been drilling maneuvers and your lot had been drilling spells, we all ate heartily together and complained of our muscle aches. And it often seemed the mages slept longer than the soldiers."

"Oh, no, that part was because we were idiots," Hubert assured him. "We would be up late theorizing together. On the other hand, magic excites the mind in a certain way, so perhaps that was why it was harder to sleep."

"And here we cavalry only stayed up late discussing our sweethearts and only the occasional rodeo trick," Ferdinand joked. "Shame on us; at least your lot were doing something useful."

"Oh, yes, how simplistic of you to spend your scant relaxation time discussing things that brought you joy," Hubert sniped. "Truly remiss of you. It was never as if your lives depended on caring whether you lived or died."

"I recall you taking the occasional hit, and taking it much harder than I would have," Ferdinand pointed out. "Each type of warmaking has its own purpose, I suppose, and I am glad to be done with all of them." He knew well from talking with mages how disturbing it was for deadly arts to feel so easy. When Ferdinand had killed, at least he could feel his lance piercing his enemy's armor and sinking into their body. There was a real, physical sensation that told him exactly what he had done, and it could not be matched by any training dummy. It was a grim business, and he would like never to have to do it again, but his mind and body knew what he was doing. Mages he'd spoken with had described the horror of casting a spell, seeing its effects, and not truly registering how many human lives they had ended because the feeling of casting was the same either way. It was a type of fortitude Ferdinand was not sure he possessed.

“Why are we speaking of the War when we could talk about anything else?” Hubert asked, and drained his glass. Ferdinand picked up the bottle. Hubert got the last half-glass of wine when he put his glass down. “I am as proud as anyone of what we accomplished, but the cost was…” He shook his head. “I hope it never has to be done again.”

“I will certainly drink to that,” Ferdinand told him, and had a sip. “Reminiscences like this make me glad we came to a comedy.”

“What, you mean the lovely lady doesn’t enter into a suicide pact with the band leader and spend the entirety of the last act dying tragically? No fatal diseases they vaguely alluded to in the first act? What a shame,” Hubert said, but his face betrayed that he could barely keep himself from laughing.

“Ah, certainly you mean the presumed-dead wife of the band leader would return, vengeful because her life has been ruined beyond repair by the death of their son and the end of her marriage, and kill poor Dina,” Ferdinand suggested. “Really, Hubert, where is your imagination?”

“Who has the energy for imagination in the summer?” Hubert countered, then held up a hand and said, “If you answer that, I will have you murdered.”

Ferdinand chuckled. “Anyway, things can go horribly wrong even in a technical non-tragedy,” he pointed out. “Remind me to bring you when they revive Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 916; nobody dies, the leading lady avoids marrying a terrible, hypocritical man, and you are still left with a feeling of divine longing that perhaps the characters could have avoided all their pain if they had been able to marry. But, instead, they are not even paired off because one of them is older and married, and the other is… She is much too young.”

Hubert frowned at Ferdinand’s sudden retreat from the topic he’d raised. “How old?”

“Seventeen,” Ferdie admitted sheepishly.

“I want very badly to hold your hand right now,” Hubert told him quietly.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Ferdinand told him. “All is well that ends well, is it not? And opera is meaningful  _ because  _ the stories are relevant. For example, the age of the leading lady held no horror for Bernadetta, but she was completely absorbed by the parts about the fiance’s unwed sister, who is forever trapped in caring for her elderly, but very abusive, father.”

“That is the opposite of a comedy,” Hubert told him flatly. “You cannot recommend a show with horrible parents and teenaged betrothals as anything other than a tragedy.”

“There is a foiled elopement plot as well,” Ferdinand told him. “And a failed suicide. It is really quite the show. And I never recommended it as a comedy; I recommended it as a non-tragedy. Nobody dies despite a duel in the first act and the attempted suicide I mentioned, and great effort is taken to ensure the young lady’s reputation remains intact. Quite the show. If I remember correctly, though, this one ends with the band moving on to their destination and playing their scheduled concert. Not as joyful as a true comedy, but certainly nothing like a tragedy.”

The light of the chandelier flickered to signal the end of the intermission.

“So easy to let time get away while I talk to you,” Ferdinand teased. “Should I run and get us some water? I am quite drunk enough.”

“Leave the running to the ushers,” Hubert advised. “Nobody needs to see the spectacle you make when you get drunk and excited.”

That was a reference to an extremely specific incident from the fourth year of the War, and Ferdinand was not having with that. “I am, firstly, not that drunk, and secondly, do not have the same access to a horse,” Ferdinand retorted. “Especially not such a good horse as Pfefferneuse. I will not stand for this slander.” He stood to leave, but stopped by the curtain, hoping Hubert was enjoying the view of his rear as well as the way twisting around exaggerated his broad shoulders. “But I will still leave the running to the ushers.”

He ducked into the hall to request a pitcher of water and some glasses, and returned to his seat as the conductor returned to his chair.

The rest of the play was excellent, as well, showing impressive musical and emotional range, but the longer it went on, the more Ferdinand wanted to just slip away with Hubert. He wanted more than a brief opportunity to hold Hubert’s hand. As he and Hubert murmured together about how exciting it would be if the men from the two pairs of young lovers were to pair off -- since, after all, how much difference was there between singing a song to encourage someone in love and singing about your love for them? -- Ferdinand wished he could be the one singing Hubert gentle love songs. 

By the time they left the theatre and piled into Ferdinand’s carriage, they were laughing and joking like friends of much longer than two years. When they’d gotten away from the lavish, public buildings around the opera house, and were winding their way through the wealthy streets of the aristocratic district, Hubert allowed him not only to hold his hand, but to kiss it. Ferdinand didn’t dare plant a kiss on Hubert’s head, but he sorely wanted to.

It felt like months just getting to Hubert’s house. When they arrived, Ferdinand told his driver they intended to be up obscenely late, and tipped the man for staying up past midnight and sent him home.

“ _ Obscenely _ late, you say?” Hubert joked as they walked inside. “Do you think anything beside the hour will be--”

“That is more than enough from you,” Ferdie told him. “I have spent my entire evening doing everything in my power not to kiss you, and if you do not take me to your room with haste, I will drag you there myself.”

“Do you even know which room is mine?” Hubert asked as he removed his jacket and led Ferdinand upstairs.

“I would expect there to be a skull and crossbones over the doorway,” Ferdie teased. In truth, he expected Hubert to have an entirely normal bedroom, perhaps with more books than most people kept. “Perhaps a casket inside, instead of a bed?”

“Only the finest of morbid curiosities for yours truly,” Hubert joked. “Why on Earth would I sleep in a casket when a coffin would be so much more striking?” He opened a perfectly normal door in the dimly-lit hallway, and Ferdinand walked into a perfectly normal, very fine bedroom. He put his jacket down over a chair and toed his shoes off, then went to lie down sideways on the bed, his legs hanging most of the way off, as Hubert went to turn out the lamp in the hallway.

Hubert returned when Ferdinand had just removed his brooch and was in the middle of pulling off his ascot and sitting up to leave both items on the nightstand. He paused in the doorway, as if to collect himself.

“You seemed to like my neck before,” Ferdie told his friend. “I thought I might make it easier to reach.” He was suddenly overcome by anxieties: was Hubert actually looking forward to this? Would he overstep like he had on Thursday? Had he already overstepped?

Hubert stepped forward, reaching up to discard his own ascot and leaving it in a messy pile with Ferdinand’s before leaning forward to kiss Ferdinand square on the mouth. He pulled away long enough to unbutton the neck of Ferdinand’s shirt so that it fell open, and then sunk down to kiss from Ferdinand’s throat down to his chest, all the way down to the bottom of the opening of his shirt.

“We will never be done with these buttons if we keep our gloves on,” Ferdinand pointed out, pulling his gloves off while his arms were loosely draped behind Hubert’s back. He gave the crown of Hubert’s head a quick peck. “The lights are low. There is no need to worry.”

Hubert pulled away from him, smirking. “Can I count that as permission to remove your waistcoat?” he asked. His confidence as he asked was very exciting.

“If you will allow me to remove yours,” Ferdinand countered. “Though I find, mundane as it is, removing your own clothing always makes things go infinitely faster.”

“In what universe would speed be one of our goals?” Hubert murmured as he dropped a glove on the bed.

Ferdie had to concede that, so he said, “Fair point” and reached down to start on Hubert’s waistcoat.

That lasted about thirty seconds as they both learned how frustrating undoing another man’s buttons could be. Then they both finished the last few of their own waistcoats and, laughing, discarded them on the floor before Ferdie backed up to lie properly on the bed and pull Hubert after him.

Hubert, as before, showed a mix of eagerness and hesitance. Ferdinand wasn’t about to flip them both over when a few kisses had made Hubert lose himself just the other day, but he was very tempted to. Hubert was a bit clumsy, in truth, his movements jerky, with little understanding of how to touch someone. His hands on Ferdinand’s chest and shoulders oscillated between being too gentle and a bit too powerful.

It was adorable, honestly. It was one of the few times Ferdinand had seen Hubert out of his element.

He ran his hands down Hubert’s arms while the other man went to town on his neck and asked, “Would you like some guidance?”

Hubert pulled back, propping himself up from the bed on one arm. “Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, and he had that calculating look he got when he was putting together several types of information. The look that was something like surprise and something like disgust, but indicated neither feeling.

“You only need to touch me until you feel a comfortable amount of pushback,” Ferdie said, hoping his words made sense. The last time he’d discussed this sort of topic with anyone, they’d been talking about dancing. “But, if you like, since you want to kiss my neck anyway, you can always just lie on me.”

Hubert lay carefully down on him, but his body was full of tension that made him feel bony and sharp even though he wasn’t. “You promised me you would relax during the opera,” Ferdinand chided as he dug his fingers against the bone at the base of Hubert’s neck.

“How much did you actually think I could accomplish when the last six years have been nothing but stress?” Hubert asked, and kissed Ferdie’s jaw.

“Should I flip us over, then?” Ferdie asked. “I am told the pressure is very relaxing.”

Hubert said a very strangled-sounding, “Yes,” then resumed his normal tone with, “Yes, even if I stop speaking again, please do.”

It was a simple business: take hold of Hubert’s shoulders, lean to the side until Hubert fell onto the bed next to him, and roll on top of him. The simplest of maneuvers, and he'd done it many times. He cradled Hubert’s head in one hand and kissed every part of it, taking his time to ensure he kissed all the cutest parts.

Hubert shuddered under him, but his face was placid. He scrabbled at Ferdie’s shoulder blades and then held him tightly.

They shifted a few times between kissing on the mouth and Ferdinand leaning down, partly to kiss Hubert's neck (and feel surrounded by the sharp, herbal scent of his cologne) and partly to be even closer to him. The weird tension drained out of Hubert in minutes, so Ferdinand flipped them back over. "Now you try," he suggested, grinning, and began pulling Hubert's shirt free from his breeches. Hubert kissed his cheek, his eyelid, his forehead, and finally his mouth as Ferdie finally reached under that fine muslin shirt and felt Hubert's skin under his hands. He explored the delicate curve of Hubert's hips with his thumbs and the dip of his spine with his fingertips. He took that ribcage between his hands, felt Hubert breathing as the man pulled Ferdinand's shirt collar to the side so he could place soft kisses along his collarbone.

He felt scarring, too. Ferdinand didn’t know everything that had happened to Hubert during the War, and he knew better than to ask about the scarring on his back.

They drew pleasant, yearning noises from each other, fumbling about to find whatever felt good. When Hubert told him to take off his shirt, Ferdinand did so readily, and laughed when it didn't want to slide between his body and the sheets. Then he got the beautiful sight of Hubert staring at him hungrily, like his torso was a dish to be devoured. He almost missed Hubert's mumbled, "You are simply magnificent" as he dove forward to place a line of kisses straight down the central meridian of Ferdinand's body.

Ferdinand tangled his fingers loosely in Hubert's hair, caressing but not pulling, as Hubert kissed from his throat down to his navel. When Hubert laid his head on Ferdinand's belly as if it were a pillow, looking up and making eye contact that Ferdinand hoped was affectionate (it certainly was on his part), Ferdinand couldn't help saying, "You take off your shirt, now. Let me see you." And he curled his fingers gently against Hubert's scalp.

Hubert sat up, straddling Ferdinand's legs, and unbuttoned his collar and sleeves. Then he raised his arms over his head and drew his shirt off in a flourish of ruffled white cotton.

The man who sat over Ferdinand was solid and real, much more than he ever looked in the stiffly tailored garments he favored. Even more than he had looked when covered in bloused muslin. Hubert's torso was pale with a few small moles, the front of him more or less flat -- not as emaciated as Ferdinand sometimes worried, but certainly no muscle mass to speak of, either -- and his shoulders a bit sloped. His hands faded to black at the fingertips from his work, but less severe stains went most of the way up his forearms, which were strangely hairless, and fine, pale thoron scars zigzagged up to his shoulders. His chest had a light smattering of fine, dark hair that started below his collarbone and petered out around the top of his stomach. It made Ferdinand wonder what Hubert must think of his own hair that, while less visible, grew in wiry, red curls from the base of his neck down, thinning down as it trailed down his stomach but certainly not disappearing. What did he think of Ferdinand's body hair? He had kissed over it readily enough, but he was so lithe and elegant, himself, Ferdie couldn’t help wondering how he compared.

Hubert breathed heavily and his stomach muscles worked, and then he leaned forward to grab one of Ferdinand's forearms. He planted kisses from near the elbow all the way to the knuckles, and then kissed each finger. It seemed a shame that he could do that, but Ferdinand wasn't allowed to return the favor.

Hubert was not lacking in battle scars, but the few he had looked shallow or small. Nothing like the many seams of hastily repaired muscle that covered Ferdie's torso and legs. It seemed an easy goal to kiss all of them.

He pulled Hubert down to him and kissed his chest and shoulder, slipping one hand down to his waist to grab his rear. When he started kissing the side of Hubert’s shoulder, slender fingers tangled in his hair. “Kiss my neck?” Hubert asked.

Ferdinand took the jutting shoulder bone into his mouth and sucked lightly on it, which pulled a very nice gasp from Hubert, but then he kissed his way back to Hubert’s neck, not missing the deep, almost gasping breaths Hubert was making. He squeezed tighter with his hand down below, pressing Hubert’s hips against his own, but that didn't seem to distract the beautiful man above him.

He ran his hands up and down Hubert’s back, which caused Hubert to curl around him for some reason, his shoulders hunched. So Ferdie flipped them over again.

Now that Hubert’s head wasn’t so far above his own, now that Ferdinand was looking down at the man, he could see uncertainty that matched such erratic breathing. He cupped Hubert’s face in his hand and played with his thumb over those bitten-down lips and said, “Oh, my moon. You must say when you stop enjoying yourself.” Hubert’s chest muscles clenched powerfully and his eyes slid to the side and it finally occurred to Ferdinand that one of the many things that could be happening, in addition to Hubert simply feeling overwhelmed, was that Hubert might be crying. Something akin to a sniffle confirmed it a moment later. “Have I done something?” Ferdinand asked. Hubert didn’t seem upset, but he could get stoic sometimes when he was unhappy, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Shut up. Lie on me again,” Hubert commanded without looking at him.

Ferdie lay down with his head on Hubert’s chest, reaching up to loop his fingers through Hubert’s hair. He ignored the unsteady breathing he could feel under himself as Hubert held him close.

_ "The moon," _ Ferdie crooned in his almost-baritone. He had sung the song before with Dorothea, when Natasha and Pierre had been playing at the Enbarr Royal. They usually worked well together, an octave or so apart.  _ "The first time I heard your voice," _ he continued, and carded his fingers idly through Hubert's carefully oiled hair, grinning at the thought that he got to spend all this time with such a stunning man. Waves ending in the suggestion of ringlets yielded around his fingers, made soft with so much moisture.  _ "Moonlight burst into the room, and I saw your eyes, and I saw your--" _

"What are you doing?" Hubert demanded, sounding just on the 'plausible deniability' side of hoarseness. His hands didn't tighten or release where they held Ferdinand close.

"Singing," Ferdie answered simply. "Something soft and sweet." He caressed Hubert's chest gently. "Something to help calm you."

Hubert took a shaky breath and said, "I am perfectly calm."

"To calm me, then," Ferdie conceded. "And to wax poetic about the moon. And you with it."

"You cannot claim some sort of sun-and-moon metaphor in a real relationship," Hubert complained.

Ferdie laughed. "I can and I have. The sun and moon, the summer and winter… We make quite the pair of opposites in so many ways." He jostled Hubert just slightly, where before he had only touched gently. "The mounted and the grounded."

Hubert's slender fingers combed Ferdie's frizzy hair to the side and played with his neck. "We are real people," he insisted. "Foils don't exist in real life, even when we see that pattern."

"You would be a lovely foil to me," Ferdie countered. "We are mismatched in so many ways, but ultimately, our dedication and our goals are the same."

Hubert didn't respond. Ferdinand sort of got the impression he wasn't dignifying it with an answer. The next thing he said was, "My apologies for that display a minute ago. It was unacceptable."

"To whom?" Ferdie asked before he could think to say something more sensitive. He tried to sound gentler as he added, "Hubert, we are the only ones here."

"I never meant to impose," Hubert told him. Ferdinand could hear the rumble of his chest almost as loudly as his words. "You've been so kind, doing all this with me, and I went and--"

"Stop," Ferdinand said out of reflex. He raised himself up so he was above Hubert, so they could look at each other. "Do not speak of yourself that way," he implored. "I am here out of the same selfish desire that caused you to invite me." He combed through Hubert's hair again with his blunt fingers. "And I came to be with the Hubert I know, not the Hubert the world sees." He lowered himself down a bit to kiss Hubert on the lips, just for a moment. "It is very difficult, feeling seen. Feeling appreciated, when you have not been."

"Touching, when I have not been touched in years," Hubert told him, sounding hoarse again.

Ferdinand smiled and lay down again with his head on Hubert's chest. "That is easy to remedy," he pointed out. "We have as long as we like." He tucked his hands under Hubert's ribs in a loose hug. Immediately, Hubert scrabbled at his back, trying to figure out a good 'hugging' hold for someone in that position. Ferdie smiled at the obvious affection in his actions.

After several seconds, again, Hubert said, "There is a way these things often go. In novels and things. Is that… inaccurate?"

Ferdie shook his head, thinking of Hubert telling him their goal should definitely not be speed. "We could do that, if we liked," he admitted. “I was enjoying just lying here with you. My cheek against your handsome chest. Enjoying the quiet of the evening.” He had always enjoyed a good cuddle. It was nice just to be pressed against Hubert and know that was his lover.

“Do you really think me handsome?” Hubert asked quietly.

Ferdie frowned. “I told you before, right?” he asked. He was sure. He must have. Yes: he remembered Hubert saying he found everyone he liked attractive, which was more or less true.

“With my clothes off,” Hubert clarified.

Ferdie pushed himself up off Hubert’s chest and left a soft kiss there before kissing Hubert more firmly on the lips. He let his head fall to the side of Hubert’s neck, and said near his ear, “You are achingly handsome. I told you I am a great appreciator of elegance.”

Hubert huffed out a laugh. “Is that what you call it these days?” he asked. “Not… gangly? Lanky?"

"Lithe," Ferdinand countered. "Slender, but not in the dangerous way I sometimes worry about." He kissed that long neck tenderly and added, "I am sure I look like a brute next to you."

“Oh, come off it,” Hubert chided. His hand in Ferdinand’s hair pulled just a little. He was responding well, tilting his head to the side to make more room for Ferdie to kiss him. “You are absolutely disallowed from saying that sort of thing for as long as you have the type of body poets sing about.”

Ferdinand laughed. The heroes of legend were never described with great, rope-like scars. They never spent full days hobbling about with knee pain unless it was the result of some great battle they were recovering from, and it always went away. They always recovered and remained handsome. His body had served him well, but he had certainly lost his youthful beauty. “Compliment me again with that pretty mouth,” he implored, breathing deeply of Hubert's scent, thinking how the clean notes of his cologne had been turned almost to musk by his summer sweat.

“You’ll find my letter soon enough,” Hubert teased. “Why should I spoil it for you? All that time spent poring over poetry tomes and thinking through my metaphors, and you think I plan to just  _ tell  _ you about how I hope to unravel you at the seams that have tied you together since the War?" His hand stroked Ferdinand's head and Ferdie wasn't sure Hubert had ever felt so close. "How I’ve spent hours thinking of the many colors of shine and shadow the sun creates in those loose waves? You want me to just spoil the whole thing?” Ferdie shuddered as Hubert played with his hair and scalp.

“You could recite it for me while I kiss your chest,” Ferdinand suggested. “And perhaps some other parts of you.” It would be just like Hubert to hide a letter somewhere for him to find. Like they were in a romance novel or something, and not making an honest attempt to be lovers. Why would he not want to know the beautiful words Hubert had written? Why would he not want to hear them from Hubert’s mouth before reading them?

“It was a first attempt,” Hubert told him, and reached down, slipping his fingertips beneath Ferdinand’s waistband and smoothing them over his hips. He made a soft “mm?” sound as if there could be any ambiguity in his actions

Ferdie arched his back, perfectly ready to move forward if Hubert was. He moved his mouth down the elegant line of Hubert’s throat, down to the center of his chest, and lost himself in exploring Hubert’s wiry chest until Hubert raised one knee just slightly off the bed and reminded him what they were really up to. He scooted lower, lavishing kisses on Hubert’s pale, flat belly as he tried to unbutton the man’s breeches one-handed.

“How is removing each other’s clothing so hard?” Hubert asked, and Ferdinand could hear the smile in his voice. “This is ridiculous. We do it on ourselves every day. Allow me.”

Ferdinand sat up, straddling Hubert, and said, “I can do it with both hands. Just not the one.” As he reached down and got the last two buttons, Hubert reached up to touch his chest with the backs of his fingers.

“This is going to get silly if you don’t allow me to do the knees myself,” Hubert warned him as he tugged at the lace of the drawers underneath. “I never imagined there would be so much indignity in taking off somebody else’s clothes.”

Ferdinand moved off the other man and unbuttoned his own breeches, but protested on principle, “Lovemaking is at its best when it gets silly.” When Hubert gave him an incredulous half-glare over the buckle at his knee, he persisted: “You do not stop being yourself when you join someone in bed. You do not need a special mood for an activity.” He had read his share of raunchy novels, including ones that had been lauded for their writing, but they all inevitably got serious when it came to the act, itself, which had not been Ferdinand’s experience. Especially during the War, when all his work had been upsetting even when it had gone well, his marriage bed had held everything from laughter to tears of relief.

“You seem determined to mock the gravity of my feelings for you,” Hubert accused as he released his first knee buckle.

“It is absolutely not mockery,” Ferdie told him, sitting down to unfasten the buttons on the knees of his own breeches. He paused to stroke the clocking on Hubert’s ankle and appreciate the way it drew his eye. “Do we not already joke with each other? It sounds very unsatisfying to put away a part of myself when I would prefer to enjoy everything about you.” He leaned over to kiss the knee that Hubert had just exposed, and grinned at him as he sat back up and resumed working on his buttons.

“I will admit,” Ferdinand said when it became clear Hubert didn’t have anything else to say, “It is certainly nice to come home after a long day and have somebody else bother about all the little buttons and fastenings. But, if you really must know, women’s buttons are reversed, which makes things very convenient in a marriage.” He had never had nearly as much trouble with Bernie’s buttons as he had with Hubert’s. “And, anyway, we have just come home from the opera, which is very invigorating, so I think we can manage this much effort.” He’d forgotten that he’d tied his socks up with his green garter ribbons, which usually went with a completely different outfit, but had seemed thematic. He held them up when he had both of them in hand and said, “Your colors, Hubert.”

Hubert leaned forward and kissed his fingertips.

“You are entirely too good at this,” Ferdie insisted as all his blood rushed to his face and his cock. “Have you been secretly romantic this entire time?”

“I haven’t been hiding it,” Hubert said, which was not a denial. “I’d like to see my colors on more than just your sock garters.” And he took the ribbons and put them on the nightstand with his own.

Their socks went on the floor, and then their breeches and drawers, and Hubert pulled the covers aside because, after all, it was past midnight, even if it was summer. 

"Would you like me to lie on you again?" Ferdinand asked, already lying on Hubert and playing with his hair. The texture was so  _ interesting _ .

"It won't be necessary," Hubert said, but his expression was closed off, even disinterested. That wouldn't do at all.

"Yes, but would you  _ like _ it?" Ferdie asked again. "I would like it very much, but there are many other things I would like, as well." The thing he would probably like most would be to have those long, elegant fingers on his cock, but he was happy to take a detour.

“Your enthusiasm really knows no bounds,” Hubert said, and pulled the sheet and a thin blanket over both of them. “Alright, come here.” He drew Ferdinand into a gentle embrace, and as Ferdie lay on his chest again, he felt Hubert shift and then place a soft kiss on the top of his head. He smiled and rubbed his ankle along Hubert’s calf.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, shifting minutely and affectionately every so-often to remind the other they were still there. The time caught up with Ferdinand first, and he yawned and said, “If it is all the same to you, I think I should go to sleep. I am unaccustomed to staying up past one.” The times he did manage it, it was usually at parties where other people were more awake than him.

Hubert stroked his hair, which he’d been doing for… however long he’d been doing it, and said, “Sleep, then. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“Should I lie at your side?” Ferdie asked. “I want you able to breathe while you sleep…” How long had it been since he’d had to work out a system for this? He could barely remember sorting out these sorts of details with Bernadetta.

Hubert hummed an agreement, so Ferdie shifted to slide down to his side, curling one arm across Hubert's chest. Hubert's arm snaked around his back, holding him close, and he didn't take long to fall asleep.

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert woke in the morning to light streaming in through the curtains. He vaguely remembered waking up in the night, at what must have been his usual time, but it hadn't been hard to fall back asleep. It was a warm Summer morning and there was a warm weight on him in the shape of what he quickly realized was the Prime Minister of Adrestia, mumbling softly in his sleep.

Hubert rubbed a gentle hand up and down Ferdinand's arm, enjoying the morning calm.

Until he remembered.

He had thrown the entire date, hadn't he? The whole thing was a wash, surely, from Ferdinand's perspective. Buying out a private box for them, treating Hubert to dinner, staying in at the intermissions instead of going out in the hall to mingle -- everything he'd done had been to show that he was completely focused on Hubert. Ferdinand, the famously charismatic socialite, had spent not only the opera, but the intermissions as well, talking and flirting with Hubert, who was barely a good conversation partner on the best of days. He had lavished attention and praise and affection on him, and what had Hubert done in return? Cried when they began getting intimate. His old tutor would have had his hide if he'd heard something as simple as soft kisses and gentle touches had caused Hubert to cry in front of someone. And, to top it all off, after all that -- when Ferdinand had spent the whole night focused on him and his comfort, with hardly a thought for himself -- Hubert hadn't even gotten him off. Not even a quick trick of the fingers. Just nothing.

Hubert was going over his complete failure of reciprocity in his head for approximately the fourth time when Ferdinand started to stir. He stroked that soft red hair idly, trying to think through how he could put a positive spin on things. What sort of lover refused to make love?

He was distracted from his own concerns when he realized belatedly that Ferdinand wasn't quietly shifting a few times and then coming into wakefulness; he seemed upset. So Hubert pinched him on the shoulder and said, "Ferdinand? Ferdinand." and kept at it until the other man woke up.

The change in him was immediate: hands that had clung to Hubert's arm suddenly loosened, and a broken sort of smile was plastered onto Ferdinand's face. "Sorry," he said, like there was anything to apologize for. "Sorry, I'm here." He looked up, met Hubert's eyes, and startled perhaps half a second later. "Ah-- Hubert! Good morning."

"Good morning," Hubert said automatically. "You… had a bad dream."

"Oh, did I? Hope I didn't trouble you." The tension around his eyes and cheekbones told Hubert he was still very upset by it.

"Not at all." Why was he deflecting? "Are you alright?" He stroked Ferdinand's hair, keeping an arm around him.

"Of course," Ferdinand lied smoothly. "I am awake now, after all."

Hubert had made a study of the various emotional states of people under duress. If he pushed in just the right way, Ferdinand was only a few seconds from tears. But what were the kind words that would keep those tears at bay? He lowered his voice and asked, "A battle?" Ferdinand had been so close to the fighting; of course he still felt its effects.

Ferdinand hesitated, then looked away and said, "It was nothing." But he didn't make any move to resume their amorous pursuits from the previous night.

"I still dream of my father," Hubert admitted. Ferdinand's whole body stiffened against his side. "I dream of him even more than the War. I hated him since before the Insurrection, but it… did something to me when I learned what he had done.”

“I dreamed that I knew what he was doing,” Ferdinand told him. His voice was quiet and shaky, and Hubert felt water fall where Ferdinand’s face met his chest. “And I ignored it.”

Hubert pulled him closer. He very quietly said, “I get those.”

“I was certain that, if I acknowledged it at all, we would be switched,” Ferdinand confessed. “Pretty ignoble of me.”

“It was a dream,” Hubert reminded him. “The point was to show you the temptation and the horror of it.” He rubbed his thumb over a raised scar on Ferdinand’s arm and added, “I mostly don’t sleep enough to dream, so it hasn’t been as much of a problem for me.” It got more and more tempting as he hired more people to his Ministry; not only did he have more time for sleep, but he had more time to deal with the things his dreams did to him.

Ferdinand sat up. Or, he propped himself up on one elbow and that was close enough. “Hubert!” He leveled as much of a glare as he could manage, and it was more effective than his usual glares because his eyes were red and raw. “All those times I told you to sleep, and you never thought to mention that?”

Hubert shrugged one shoulder. “You weren’t wrong,” he pointed out. “My sleep schedule is definitely bad for me. And it serves a purpose."

"You foolish man," Ferdinand scolded, but he cupped Hubert's face in his hand like it was something precious. "You see why I worry about you?"

"You never mentioned your troubled sleep, either," Hubert reminded him. "Surely, you understand the protective impulse of it." He put a hand on Ferdinand's side and slid it down his supple body to his plush ass and took a great handful of it. "I take it you could use a distraction?"

Ferdinand leaned over him to kiss his cheek and then his lips, and then clambered back on top of Hubert and ground their hips together.

The next several minutes were a blur of hands on his body and Ferdinand's body in his hands, of the faded remains of Ferdinand's spicy cologne that played through his hair and wafted just gently over Hubert, of Ferdinand making him shudder and watching Ferdinand shudder in return. The breathy, mewling sounds Ferdinand made when he was close to release were nothing like what Hubert had imagined, but he loved them just the same. Hubert, ever conscious of what could be heard through a door, barely made audible gasps even though he knew it was a frivolous enough concern that he didn't shush Ferdinand.

Hubert reached into the drawer of his nightstand and wiped them both clean (more or less) with a washcloth. Then he lay on top of Ferdinand, kissing him lazily, much more satisfied that he had fulfilled his responsibility as a lover.

Ferdinand's chest was unbelievably broad, and Hubert loved it. With good tailoring and properly placed padding, Hubert could look like he had broad, square shoulders and a more substantial body, but Ferdinand sported a thick layer of muscle over every part of his body. His torso was massive, tapering down from his great, broad chest to slender hips and then back out to his horseman's thighs (Hubert had specifically mentioned his ass last night, hadn't he? Using that wording. Maybe he'd never drink again; that should shut him up.) and Hubert could tell, now, that there was no padding required for Ferdinand to cut such a dashing figure.

With Ferdinand's chest being so much broader than Hubert's, it turned out that lying on Ferdinand's chest and kneading the muscle under his own chest (and Ferdinand's nipples with it) was impressively easy. Hubert felt Ferdinand's dick twitch under himself.

"You like that?" Hubert purred. "You like when I rough up your big, meaty chest?" Maybe the alcohol last night wasn't the problem. Maybe he should stop speaking around Ferdinand altogether.

That pulled an easy laugh out of Ferdinand, which shook Hubert's whole body since he was lying on the other man. "I like every way you touch me," Ferdinand said, and he wore such an open, guileless smile that Hubert couldn't even bring himself to try to find an exception.

Hubert kissed Ferdinand in a completely transparent ploy to shut himself up, though it may have also been partly a way to ensure Ferdinand wouldn't say anything else achingly romantic. He kept kneading at those pecs, and Ferdinand started making sounds in the back of his throat, so Hubert switched to using his fingers to press and squeeze and pull, and Ferdinand's hips pitched forward more than a couple times in response.

It was amazing, truly, how much time Hubert was allowed to dedicate to kissing Ferdinand. It almost made up for nearly two years of  _ not _ kissing Ferdinand. When he tired of Ferdinand's mouth, he moved down, showering his affection on that thick, stubbly neck or even on Ferdinand's chest, with its abundance of red hair and the dashingly pronounced fold of muscle, with piles of pale scar tissue over it, that Hubert wasn't allowed to kiss or lick. There was probably no part of Ferdinand Hubert wouldn't enjoy kissing, if he was being honest. And the decadence of staying in bed late into the morning also helped.

They ended up going three rounds, all told, Ferdinand generous and cheerful, Hubert half indulging in his own pleasure and half experimenting to discover what actions delighted and overwhelmed his lover. Then Ferdinand stroked Hubert's hair, unafraid of its greasiness, and said, "We had best have breakfast soon. What do we say to the servants?"

"You will get dressed and go to the next room via the servants' hallway," Hubert told him. "Roll about in the bed a couple times, disorder the pillows, and then come out as if you had slept there all night." He put a hand on Ferdinand's hip and added, "And wash up while you're in there. We certainly haven't stayed clean."

"I will take a shower," Ferdinand said. "My hair could use it, anyway."

Ferdinand's hair was perfect. Ferdinand's hair was always perfect. It would be implausibly flattering for Hubert to mention that, even when Ferdinand used to come in from battle with his hair soaked halfway through with sweat, it had been perfect. That last opinion was, perhaps, more of a personal belief than a universal truth. "You should have everything you need," Hubert assured him. For all he knew, Ferdinand had an elaborate regimen of hair rinses and such at home, but he could struggle through with the top-shelf hair soap and conditioner and protective oil that Hubert kept stocked in his guest room.

Or, no: Ferdinand had grown his hair out out of convenience. It would make no sense for him to take on an elaborate hair care routine. So he would probably actually be fine.

Hell, Ferdinand's hair had been perfect on campaign. It was probably as hardy and resilient as Ferdinand, himself. It was definitely silly to worry that Hubert's carefully chosen guest room hair products would cause Ferdinand any strife, especially when Ferdinand was currently abandoning him in his bed--

"One last kiss?" Hubert asked, trying not to sound overly attached.

Ferdinand chuckled softly and took Hubert's hand, kissed the back of it, and then froze.

"A-- apologies," Ferdinand said. "I did that without thinking. I meant no offense--"

"It was fine," Hubert lied. What was done was done. If he dragged out the conversation, Ferdinand would start overcompensating for his disgust by waxing poetic again, the way he had on Thursday. "We will both feel rejuvenated after some caffeine."

It was the greatest luxury he could imagine, lying nude in bed midmorning and watching his lover dress. Ferdinand forwent his accessories and jacket, carrying them with him as he ventured out to the room he was going to pretend he'd inhabited after they'd stayed up late together discussing the opera, or whatever they were going to say they'd done. Only when he heard water running through the pipes in the next room did Hubert finally pull himself out of bed. In his en suite bathroom, he washed his stomach and genitals properly, rinsed the washcloth he kept in his nightstand, and then washed his hands and face in preparation for the day. He went through the familiar motions of shaving, patted his chin down with a warm towel, then walked back into his bedroom, threw yesterday’s linens in the wash, and got dressed. Nobody had to know he was wearing burgundy sock garters in a nod to the achingly romantic gesture Ferdinand had pointed out the previous night.

In his waistcoat, breeches, and plain socks, he looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his hands down his sides, wondering if he really looked as handsome as Ferdinand said, or if he just looked emaciated. The loose sleeves of his shirt certainly did his arms a favor, but the shape of his hands got lost against the black fabric of his waistcoat.

He went to pull on his gloves and jacket so he wouldn't have to think about those questions anymore. He looked much more imperious with some shoulder pads.

He returned to his mirror to comb his hair into place, then removed his gloves to apply his cologne for the day and went down to breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta wasn't really in this chapter, but I like to think of her fluffing Ferdinand's ascot, telling him how handsome he is, and reassuring him one last time that, yes, she really does want him to do this.


	17. The Death of Count Varley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie's dad dies. Ferdinand and Hubert do their best to help her mourn. Her family comes into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sooooo excited to share this chapter with you! A quick note before the chapter starts: the Ashen Wolves exist in this world, but I didn't know about Yuri's backstory when I wrote this chapter and, frankly, I hate how all the terrible dads were retconned to be less terrible later, because protecting Bernadetta from assassination doesn't actually change all the abuse, and Hubert's dad trying to protect him somehow doesn't make him any less of a power-grubbing rat bastard, etc. etc. Yuri doesn't really figure into this story, so I don't mind changing his history with Bernadetta back to what we knew it to be before the DLC.

By mid-Horsebow Moon, everything was going swimmingly. Hubert and Ferdinand were quickly becoming an item, Hubert had met Laura from the women writers' salon and she'd told Bernie she loved how brooding he was, and the air was finally cooling down.

Bernie had just gotten a couple of high-ranking agents under her control. Not field agents, who were volatile and could need support in the field at a moment's notice, but people who collected information from informants around their city. Their letters were directed to her, personally, addressed to “Lioness” instead of “Spider,” and she was able to build a more cohesive picture of the Liecester unrest, as the Ministry's specialist in the southern half of the region.

A runner in the Emperor’s livery met her and Ferdinand at the door of the Palace, which wasn't terribly usual, but not unheard of. But he said, "I was asked to take you to a receiving room to give you my news," which Bernie had never heard of before.

Ferdinand followed readily, though, so Bernadetta figured it was alright. They all sat in a little parlor with the door closed, a room where guests could wait a few minutes for an audience. The runner turned to Bernadetta and said, "Lady Aegir, I do not know how to soften this. The news from your father's house this morning is that he died in the night."

Numbness surrounded her like a veil. She said, "Thank you. That is difficult news to deliver," and wondered what the right response was. When they'd received the details of how he was found (it seemed to be an overnight heart attack) and when his funeral would be, the runner left and they were alone, and Bernadetta was still numb.

Ferdinand said her name softly and turned to hug her. Tears leaked out of her eyes, but she still couldn't feel anything.

"We need to write to Varley at once," Ferdinand pointed out, not letting go of her. "We cannot delay. But I can handle it if you need some time. I know your feelings about him were complicated."

He didn't say, but he knew that because he was the same: he hated his father, resented him, and had still been beyond distraught when his father died.

"I need to talk to Hubert," Bernadetta said, but she made no move to leave her husband's embrace. "There is a good chance he did this." She didn't know which was worse: if it had been coincidental that his goals had required the death of her father, or if he did it out of sympathy for her.

"I will draft a letter to your mother and sisters," Ferdinand reassured her. He pulled back enough to kiss her forehead. "I have you, my darling. I am right here."

"We should go do our business," Bernie suggested, and pulled away a bit more. "As you said, the letter must be written immediately."

"It will wait for your signature in my office," Ferdinand promised. He stood and pulled her up by her elbows. They walked together until their paths had to branch away from each other.

Imperial Affairs, when she arrived, was mostly as it had been. She knocked hard on Hubert's office and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Hubert answered in a matter of moments, and when he saw Bernadetta, he said, "Come in. We have much to discuss."

"Was it you?" Bernadetta asked when the door was shut.

"You know I cannot say," Hubert told her. "If I claim to have assassinated one of my fellow Ministers of the Royal Cabinet, that leaves me with one set of problems. If I claim it happened under my own nose, I am left with another. And that is  _ if _ it was an assassination at all; he could have simply lived in such a stressful, hateful way that it shortened his natural lifespan." Hubert shrugged.

The hint was there. He didn't deny hating Bernadetta's father, even on the day of his death. That was as much as she would ever be able to dig up.

"What do we do now?" she asked instead, as she resolved that it had been Hubert's planning.

"Johann handles the Midcountry," Hubert reminded her. "Your only duty is to write to your mother and sisters and tell them to come at once for the funeral, and then, presumably, for your husband to help either your mother or Miss Varley adjust to her new position in the Ministry."

Bernadetta's eyes overflowed with tears. "He was my father," she reminded Hubert.

"You have my condolences on the death of your father," Hubert told her, and he didn't seem mocking, but how could she take him seriously? He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a sealed envelope. "Here is my letter to your mother outlining the Imperial Household's due diligence and her household's next steps. The other ministers will probably want to send their regrets, as well.”

A wave of despair washed over her and she gripped the back of a chair. “If he could just die like this, so early and so suddenly, why did he have to live so long?”

Hubert lunged for the door and she heard the soft sizzle of magic. “It would be wise not to speak that way in unsecured rooms,” he said, but the weight of Bernie’s loss felt so much heavier than anything someone could infer from her words. He helped her sit as he added, “I felt the same when my own father died: if hurting a child was the most dire thing he was accused of, why not just strip down years earlier, show the scars my lady’s failures left on my back when he decided I hadn’t felt them acutely enough? But suspicion always falls on this Ministry, so you need to hold your tongue or you will be investigated just for mourning the time his abuse took from you. It is unfair and it is necessary.”

Bernadetta couldn’t stop crying long enough to respond.

“If it would not upset you more, now would be an ideal time to go to your husband’s ministry,” Hubert told her. “I could even walk you there, if you prefer. It would show publicly how distraught you are over this, without anyone needing to know that your feelings are complicated.”

“I don’t want some public parade of grief!” Bernadetta screamed at him. She wasn’t sure she could keep her voice steady enough to understand if she spoke any quieter. “I want my childhood back!” None of these feelings had hurt so acutely before. It was like, with her father’s death, the wounds she had carefully sewn together and guarded over had been ripped open. Like he’d dragged all the healing out of her on his way down to Hell.

“I think trying to help is making it worse,” Hubert told her. “I will hold my tongue and wait with you. Rest assured, nobody can hear you with the warding I put up.”

When Bernadetta felt marginally more composed, she heard Hubert shifting and looked up to see him finish decoding a letter, still blurry through her tears. He finished a row of text in his notebook, then shut it with the letter inside, locked it into his desk, and grabbed the envelope he'd tried to hand her earlier.

“Alright, we’re going,” Hubert said as he stood and came around his desk. “I need to get this to the Ministry of Law, and even if you loathe it,  _ you  _ need to display your grief publicly.” He grabbed Bernadetta by her upper arm and pulled her to a standing position, and she didn’t protest.

Magic fizzled into static as Hubert opened the door. She walked to Ferdinand’s ministry on Hubert’s arm. She didn’t have to look at his face to know he was wearing his usual distant, serious look as she fell apart next to him. It was enough for her to put one foot in front of the other.

They walked into the Ministry of Law with minimal fuss. They were both well known there, as a Minister of the Cabinet and the Prime Minister’s wife. Bernie sniffled her way through the office space, full of open doors to allow ventilation in the warmth of early autumn. She was so loud that Ferdinand met them at the door of his office.

“Bernie! Oh, my love.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her inside. “Here, sit down, sit down. Thank you for bringing her, Hubert; she seemed fine when she went to see you."

“Remember what we discussed,” Hubert said, which was probably directed at her and probably referring to not badmouthing her father where people might hear. His voice lowered and he added, “It came upon her suddenly. There was no predicting it. See that this gets to Varley with your letter, and my condolences for the loss of your father-in-law.” Then a rush of air, the soft shuffle of a man's footsteps, and Hubert was gone.

“Here is the letter I wrote,” Ferdinand told her, and a letter was placed in her hand and then the door closed. “I covered our bases, but if you feel it needs your flourish, I understand.”

Bernie blinked the tears out of her eyes. She had mostly stopped crying, or at least it was slow now.

The letter read:

_ Our dearest Varley women, _

_ This morning, we received the tragic news of Count Varley’s passing. We are devastated, of course, but this is also a time for action. We urge you to come to Enbarr as quickly as possible for his funeral; it will happen the morning of the twenty-second, so there is no time to spare. _

_ While you are here, it would be prudent for Lady and Miss Varley to discuss succession, as no clear plan was put in place before the Count’s death. The Ministry of Religion is as important as ever, and clear leadership is essential in our still-rebuilding Empire. _

_ We are sure you are aware that, during his life, Count Varley had an antagonistic relationship with Ferdinand. However, those feelings do not extend to anyone else from his household. Please come knowing you will be received warmly at House Aegir and that you will have our complete support during this time. _

_ We hope to see you soon, _

_ Ferdinand von Aegir _

It certainly did have all the bases covered, but Bernie wasn’t sure she could put her name on such stilted, clunky language. “Perhaps we should write separate letters,” she suggested, and sniffled. Even Ferdinand, who was much better at speaking than writing, didn’t usually write so badly.

“I thought the same,” Ferdie admitted. “It is impressively difficult to write a letter as if I were two people. How about: you write about the death and funeral, asking them to come, and I will write about the strife between our houses and the need to establish succession? Should we…? It is not the time to point out that neither of your sisters has come out into society, but perhaps we should mention it when we see them in person?”

“I can mention it in a postscript,” Bernie suggested. “You took the burden of feuding with Father onto your own shoulders, so I think the reconciliation should come from me first.”

They sat across from each other and penned separate letters. Ferdinand’s second letter, which read like one of his semi-public speeches, elaborated about how the rift between him and Bernie’s father had been only between the two of them on account of Bernadetta’s abuse by the Count’s hand, and it did not extend to any bad feelings toward the rest of the Varley household. Then he continued that he would be proud to help reacquaint the family with Enbarr and help with the “adjustments into the new role that must be taken on by either Lady or Miss Varley after the unfortunate passing of the Count.”

It also had very little overlap with Bernie’s letter, which gave the news that Father had died and asked her mother and sisters to come to Enbarr immediately for the funeral, and welcomed them to stay at her and Ferdinand’s house if they wanted some time to sort through their feelings and Father’s belongings. In the postscript, she mentioned that, although she knew it was hardly the time, she wanted to mention that she and Ferdinand had been waiting on an opportunity to show Ellie and Sandy around in high society in pursuit of marriage, and the offer was available any time once the mourning period was over.

They folded the letters together, Bernie’s on the inside so it would be read first, and sealed it with Aegir House’s rust red and Ferdinand’s seal. Bernadetta wrote  _ Countess Varley and Family _ on the back and Ferdinand sent a runner to take them, along with Hubert's letter, to a royal messenger on his behalf, since Emperor Edelgard would surely send a message, as well.

Then Ferdinand knelt in front of her as she was overwhelmed by a fresh wave of tears. “Yes, my dove,” he soothed, “You have done everything that was required. All your obligations are done.” She sank down to slump over his shoulders in an approximation of a hug, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Whatever you need, we will do it.”

Ferdinand had been through the same thing. His father, who had only ever been cold to him, had been executed following the confirmation of evidence that he had knowingly worked with Lady Edelgard’s torturers. He knew the difficulty Bernadetta was having, mourning and feeling unable to mourn at the same time. “Just tell me these feelings will ebb,” she said into his shoulder. “That’s all I need.”

“They will,” Ferdinand told her. Her Ferdie. And he rubbed her back gently with one big hand while the other one held her steady. “It will take time, but they will ease. It will take time, but you will stop fearing him.”

“Take me home,” Bernie begged. “I want to lie down.” She wanted to draw the curtains and fall asleep and not wake up until she was absolutely required to attend the funeral. She didn’t even want to attend.

“Immediately, my love,” Ferdie said, and helped her sit up straight before he stood and helped her up.

As she walked through the halls of the palace, she felt like she was divided in two. From the neck up, she felt hot and sticky, tearful, emotional. But her chest and spine felt made of ice, numb and distant. That protected her from caring about, or even noticing, anybody staring at them on their way to the stables.

Her crying slowed in the carriage. Ferdinand stroked her hair and didn't say much. When they got home, she let him tell the servants while she went upstairs immediately.

.-._.-._.-._

Telling the servants was as simple as finding Marjory, the housekeeper, and telling her that Lady Aegir's father had died in the night and they would both be home and in deep mourning for the next several days.

Then he went to the kitchen and filled a plate from the larder, since Bernadetta wouldn't want to come downstairs or be disturbed any more than she absolutely had to, and she would eventually need lunch. He didn't expect Bernie to be too hungry, but he also wanted her to have enough choices that she would find something tempting.

He briefly considered having tea brought up, but tea was his passion, not Bernie's. Perhaps she would want tea in a couple hours, some chamomile or angelica or mint. He wouldn't bother her with formalities like proper brewing techniques while she was so upset.

He hurried up to their room, set the lunch plate down on top of the writing desk, and looked at Bernadetta. She was in her shift, snuggled (cowering?) under the covers. Ferdinand unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off, and then his waistcoat as well, and went to join her.

Bernadetta was shaking. It was impossible to know if it was from crying, or if she was simply shaking.

What had he done, back when his own father had died? For days, he had been manic, full to bursting with energy, barely able to sit down, napping once or twice a day but barely sleeping at night. He had been unable to slow down for fear that, if he stopped moving his body, his thoughts would catch up with him. He had barely eaten. At the end of a week, he had more or less collapsed and then sobbed for hours as his friends comforted him in shifts.

But what had he felt at the first?

Despair. Relief, and shame at his relief. Finality.

"If you need to say anything, I am here to listen," Ferdinand murmured, and traced little designs on Bernie's belly with his fingertips. Just to give her some sensation to focus on that wasn't her red, tearful face.

She nodded, and he felt her head move, and he settled in to help her handle the very complicated process of mourning someone she’d hated and feared.

.-._.-._.-._

Mother, Ellie, and Sandy arrived in four days. They had sent word ahead that they needed time to pack and prepare, but it still felt like they could have hurried more. A maid came to their room and said Bernadetta’s family had arrived, and Ferdinand helped Bernie dress and brush her hair quickly and then shrugged on his jacket and toed on his shoes, and they went out into the hallway together.

When she saw her sisters, Bernadetta all but ran down the stairs. Ferdinand followed behind at a more dignified pace, but it had been seven years since Bernie had seen her family. Mother was more or less unchanged, her hair perhaps a bit grayer, but Ellie and Sandy had both grown up.

“Oh, it has been so long!” Bernie lamented as she crashed into her sisters and hugged them both. After squeezing them tight for a good, long moment, she pulled back to look at them. After days of mourning, tears sprang readily to her eyes. “You’re both so beautiful! You grew up so well!” Sandy had been, perhaps, a little unfortunate in the first half of her teens, more interested in exploring Varley than in looking presentable, but it gave her a sturdiness now, like some of the knights Bernie had met. Eleonora had filled in, teenage lankiness giving way to tall, elegant poise. Bernie surged forward to hug them again, and they hugged her back tight.

“You have my deepest regrets that we are meeting again like this, Lady Varley,” Ferdinand said from Bernadetta’s left. “If you and your daughters have been going through even half of what Lady Aegir has, I cannot say how sorry I am.”

“There is no need to sweeten it,” Mother said, and the steel in her voice sent a chill down Bernadetta’s spine even after seven years. “I know there was no love lost between you and my husband.”

“Be that as it may, I have never harbored any resentment for you or your daughters,” Ferdinand told her. Bernie started pulling away from her sisters again so they could see each other and talk. “I have simply counted myself lucky to have the energy I need to support Bernadetta. Arrangements for the funeral have been going smoothly, and it will proceed tomorrow. Will you be staying here or in your city house?”

“We were hoping to stay here,” Ellie said. “To have somewhere else to return to while we sort out his possessions and accounts.”

“I unfortunately have some experience in that process, if you need any help or advice,” Ferdinand told her. He smiled suddenly, the way he did when his smile was fake, and said, “But, come: Lady Aegir and I will see you to your rooms, and we can have dinner once you have gotten settled. It is especially important to take care of yourself during such a difficult time. Time and your appetite can get away from you easily.”

Bernie turned to Mother and curseyed, her head down in deference, and said, “Mother, it has been too long.” She should have done that first, before talking to Ellie and Sandy, but it had been too overwhelming to see her baby sisters all grown up.

Mother nodded at her and said, “Bernadetta. Didn’t I teach you better manners than this?”

Bernie froze. So many impulses warred within her: she wanted to apologize and talk back and make excuses and say something snippy, all at once.

“I feel some allowance can be made, considering the difficult time both of you have had,” Ferdinand said, and put a hand on the back of Mother’s shoulder. “Here, let me show you upstairs. You can hardly blame her for being excited to see her sisters, when they have not seen each other in person for years. Why, the only time I met Miss Melissandre, she was… thirteen years old? She has had such a lot of growing to do since then!”

Bernie and her sisters followed the pair of them up the stairs. Ferdinand was an expert at defusing difficult situations, had had to hone those skills as Prime Minister in order to find diplomatic answers to problems that had no good solution. The only other time Ferdinand had met Mother, he had talked back so badly that Mother had quietly estranged Bernie from her family, only allowing occasional letters between Bernadetta and her sisters. Now, he smoothed over the rifts Bernadetta made with her carelessness and incompetence as if it was nothing.

Ferdinand showed Mother to her room, and Bernie asked her sisters if they wanted to share or have separate rooms. They chose to stay together, so she showed them around their room and took their traveling bags to put on the dresser and asked them how the ride to Enbarr was.

“A bit muddy, but only a bit,” Sandy said. “You know nothing is new with us! Nothing ever changes in Varley! Tell us about what’s been happening here in Enbarr!”

Oh. When had Bernie become the person to get gossip from? The last time she’d seen her sisters… That was back when she could barely leave her room. It had been nearly a third of her life since she’d seen them. “I started working in the Ministry of the Imperial Household,” she told them. “I work directly under the Emperor’s Shadow, the Marquis of Vestra. He likes to make himself sound very dramatic, with his titles. He does a very funny thing where he acts very secretive and goes on and on about how scandalous and callous he is, and then proceeds to be one of the most calm and gentle people I know, and also has a weekly afternoon tea with Ferdinand. You will certainly meet him; he is a very good family friend of ours.”

Sandy looked away for a moment, then looked straight at Bernie and asked, "Is he single?"

"He is twenty-six years old," Bernie scolded. "You will always be safe, Sandy; there is no reason for you to marry someone for money."

"I don't even want to marry," Sandy told her. She sounded very proud, almost boastful. "I am to be a knight. Mother found me an apprenticeship starting in the Spring."

"I just feel so bad about what he did to you," Ellie burst out, and started crying.

"Oh… Ellie, it wasn't… You couldn't have…" Bernie tried. She didn't really sound soothing at all.

"I know. I know, we were children, I was younger, but I still… And you having to mourn him in front of everyone, like he never… Like I didn't just stand by and watch as he…" She gasped and hiccupped her sobs.

Bernie went to sit next to her. "I do feel sad about it," she reassured her. "But it does… I also feel sad for me." Tears sprang to Bernie's eyes, but she had cried plenty of tears in the past four days. She didn't pull her handkerchief out for them anymore. Sandy snuggled up on Eleonora's other side. "He tied me up, but you had to watch. You had to know it was happening to your big sister. You had to act like the oldest after he made me so useless."

Ellie turned toward her and hugged her, and very, very quietly asked, "Is Ferdinand as good to you as he seems?"

"Marrying me to Ferdinand was the only kind thing Father ever did for me," Bernie admitted. "He is always considerate. He was not even above arguing with Father as strongly as he did, even though I never told him about Father tying me up until a couple months ago."

"He had quarrels with our father?" Sandy asked. "While they were both in the Emperor's Cabinet?"

"Father was… banned from our house," Bernie told her sister almost automatically. "Did nobody tell you? Father must have written home; he was incensed beyond anything I had seen. He threw such a fit in our front hall, I could only watch from the landing above. Ferdinand just kept repeating that nobody who upset his wife was allowed in his home, and trying to push him toward the door. I… had never been defended so fiercely before," she admitted, blushing. "I felt like a character in a novel or an opera."

"If he wrote home, Mother didn't tell us," Sandy said. "He might have been embarrassed, though. He has to have known it was his own fault."

"I actually wanted to talk to you about letters," Bernie told her sisters. She wanted to be certain not to forget. "I was talking with Ferdinand and the Marquis of Vestra, and they both say it is unusual for parents to read and revise all their children's letters. Even in House Vestra, which is concerned with information before anything, the Marquis's father let his letters be his alone. Ferdinand, especially, was horrified to learn that Mother and Father used to read my letters. He nearly burned the ones from our engagement when he learned Father had revised them."

"I thought probably," Ellie told her. "I wasn't about to ask, though." Bernie nodded; Ellie was sensible, and knew how to bide her time and pick her battles. "Thank you for saying it plainly, though."

"We should unpack," Sandy pointed out. "And you should go reconcile with Mother. It wasn't you, I promise; she's been in hysterics. But you know she holds grudges."

Bernie stood and leaned down to hug her sisters again. "I am so proud of both of you," she told them. "We will talk later; I will ensure there is time." She turned to go, but paused when she was almost at the door to face them and say, "Father isolated me and pulled us apart, but I always loved both of you so much." Then she was able to leave the room and make her way to the adjacent one.

"He certainly stood by his principles," Ferdinand was saying as Bernie knocked on the frame of the open door. “If he had-- ah, Bernadetta, come in." He turned back to Mother and continued: "If only he had not treated Bernadetta so abysmally, I would have liked to get to know him. As it is, I am sure you and your other daughters have conflicted feelings about his passing, just as my wife does.”

“A stern hand with a child is not always a bad thing, Duke Aegir,” Mother pointed out.

“I am running my mouth,” Ferdinand said, bowing his head deferentially. “How can I force you to choose between defending your husband and your daughter when you are grieving? Please forgive me.” He wrapped an arm around Bernadetta’s waist. “My purpose was, of course, not to insult anyone. I only wanted you to know that Bernie is safe here, and always will be. We were not able to discuss it properly in the wedding week, and it seemed for a while that you wanted nothing to do with me.” He squeezed Bernie around the waist, just lightly, and added, “I have always considered her protection to be my duty not only to her, but to you and your daughters, as people who love her.”

“But not to my husband?” Mother asked him.

“He did not want or encourage me to protect her,” Ferdinand told her. “And he did not protect her when she was in his care, and Bernadetta took ill with nerves every time he visited, so it was my understanding that her safety was not one of his concerns. And yet, my own father showed time and again that he neither liked nor cared for me, and I was beside myself for a week after his death before settling into a calmer state of grief, so I could never doubt the sincerity of Bernie’s mourning.”

Mother took a deep breath. Her eyes looked tense, like she was going to cry, and turned red as she said, “Duke Aegir, could I have a few minutes with my daughter? I would like to get reacquainted.”

“Of course,” Ferdie said, and stood. “Forgive me for hovering; I am always tempted to act when nervous, even when it will clearly do no good.” He kissed Bernie on the head and left the room, and she heard him knock softly next door, checking in with her sisters.

“Bernadetta,” Mother said as Bernie sat where Ferdinand had a few moments ago.

“Mother. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you properly earlier.”

“I don’t know why I would expect more of you. You seem to be making a pretty good name for yourself, though.” Ah. So they were back to how they used to be.

“I like to think so,” Bernie admitted. “I have become a respected member of my writers’ salon and I have two Ministers of the Imperial Cabinet who regularly ask my strategic advice, so I would call that success.”

“Mmmm. Very nearly. You’re still barren, though. However protective they are, men do grow to resent women who won’t bear them children.”

Mother was the one who had helped her stay safe. She was the one who’d pointed out how dangerous it would be to have a child. “I am not much bigger than I was at seventeen,” she pointed out.

The disgust on Mother’s face was obvious. “Oh,  _ Bernie,” _ she said. “You’re twenty-three, dear. The clock is ticking. What, are you expecting another growth spurt? If that’s the biggest your hips get, it’s as big as they get. You’ll have to bear him children  _ sometime.” _

It had been months since Ferdinand had learned she wasn’t infertile, and he hadn’t mentioned it at all, but sometimes resentments grew over time. Bernie knew that, but she had wanted to have faith.

“I mean, what is he to think?” Mother continued. “That we sent Aegir not our pride, our eldest, our first crested daughter, but a childless disappointment? I understand crests have a reduced importance now, but if Aegir House is to continue in its glory, you will need to bear him at least one child, and preferably several. And I would remind you that I am having to tell you this while I haven’t even been able to mourn my husband for three days.”

“As I have been mourning my father,” Bernie pointed out, and felt an echo of… something. The fear she used to feel while talking to Mother, maybe.

“Do not pretend to know what I am feeling,” Mother told her, standing up. “Does your insolence know no bounds? We all know how much you hated him.”

Bernie rose, too. She was still shorter than Mother, but only by a few inches. “And it was his own fault,” she agreed. “And still, I can’t help but think about how much you cared about him, and how much Ellie and Sandy cared about him, and every time he was ever kind to me.” She started to cry again, and she didn’t know it was from mourning or from standing up to Mother. “Do you remember when he used to take us to the fair in the Fall? I remember when we went to watch the races and he held me on his shoulders and I felt taller than anyone in the world. Back when Sandy had just been born. Back before I ever thought to question whether he cared about me. That’s part of me, too!” She just wanted Mother to relent, to say she’d only lashed out from her pain and then hold her.

She heard the slap before she felt it, and felt it long before she understood what had happened. “Your husband may put up with your lies, but I will not,” Mother told her. Her voice was shaking. Her whole body was shaking. “I had thought you’d manage to grow up in seven years, but here you are, upsetting your own mother on purpose, and for what? Holding you accountable for your actions? Do you really think Ferdinand will retain his devotion to you as the years pass and you give him nothing? His lenience is no excuse for your failure to do your duty.”

Voices rose in the hall outside. “That was fast, even for you,” Ferdinand was saying.

“I wasn’t about to throw your family to the vultures,” Hubert responded. The door wasn’t as thick as Bernie had thought.

She turned to go out into the hallway. Just crying wouldn’t imply anything with the state she’d been in since Tuesday. “Hubert,” she said, curtsying slightly. “My mother and sisters are very tired from their journey. We haven’t even eaten yet. Is there anything that cannot wait until morning?”

“In the morning, the other ministers will descend on your house, in all their state, and pressure your mother and Miss Varley to decide the future of their holding right then. I’m here because Ferdinand is too nice to make them plan their response before they’re settled in.” He looked at Ferdie. “If you could fetch Miss Eleonora…? I would like to be out of your hair as soon as possible, but in my experience, when these things haven’t been arranged beforehand, the whole conversation falls apart.”

Mother had followed her out into the hallway at some point, and spoke up as Ferdinand went to knock on Bernie’s sisters’ door. “I am the Countess Varley,” she pointed out. “Of course, my responsibility is to replace my husband.”

“Oh, certainly,” Hubert agreed. “Or to designate a replacement, which may be more agreeable to you, considering you’ve avoided Enbarr for years. In any case, Miss Varley should be part of this conversation, since she will inherit from you.”

“Here, the parlor lights up well for the evening and we can all sit down,” Bernie offered. Hubert and Mother nodded to her, so she started leading them downstairs.

“Oh, by the way, how’s your cheek doing?” Hubert asked from behind her.

“Just fine, tha-- Hubert!” She froze when she realized what he was asking, and from the way he stomped on the step behind her, it surprised him.

“We’ll have to start doing surprise rounds,” he murmured.

“Hubert!” she hissed again, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment. She started down the stairs again.

“Just wanted to be sure,” he told her. “Didn’t feel like being subtle. We’re having a conversation about leadership and succession, after all.”

“Is he always like this?” Mother asked from behind Hubert.

“Only with people I know,” he snarked back. “Don’t worry; it isn’t like we were loud enough for the others to hear.”

They filed into the parlor and Bernie lit the lamps. Hubert pulled his notebook from his inside breast pocket. Ferdinand and Eleonora followed a few seconds later.

“Alright. If I can begin: I am Marquis Hubert von Vestra, Minister of the Imperial Household, and of course this is Lady Varley, so does that make you Miss Eleonora von Varley?” Hubert asked Ellie.

She nodded, and Hubert flipped through his notebook.

“Alright. So, there are two positions that need to be decided on. The obvious one is the Minister of Religion position, which requires staying in Enbarr most of the year and interpreting cultural and theological customs for the new era. Then, of course, there’s the question of who will manage County Varley. My understanding is that Lady Varley has extensive experience in land management, and Miss Varley has extensive training; either of you could do it fairly easily. The question, then, becomes: who would be the best candidate for Minister of Religion?”

“Me, of course, until Eleonora marries,” Mother said.

“And you want to?” Hubert asked. “It’s the life you actually want? Because this is the conversation where we discuss aspirations, not obligations. Ferdinand and I can help you phrase your decision in a way that sounds proper; if this is what you sincerely want, I won’t argue, but if you’re content with the position you currently hold in Varley, we can ensure you keep managing your land; Varley’s succession laws are infamously vague.”

“And if I don’t want to  _ and  _ Eleonora doesn’t want to?” Mother asked.

“Then we figure it out,” Hubert assured her.

“I do want to,” Ellie said, and everybody looked at her.

“My darling, you have no training,” Mother pointed out. “They would eat you alive.”

“I had only introductory training in law when I took my position,” Ferdinand pointed out. “The Ministry of Religion is robust and will not need any reordering for Miss Varley to take the helm. And she would, of course, have my and Hubert’s support and guidance as she adjusts.”

After a short, exceedingly tense pause, Mother asked, “And what if both of us want the position?”

_ “Then we figure it out,” _ Hubert said again. “All I want is for you and Miss Varley to work out a plan. My purpose here is to help you figure out what that plan is, not force a resolution one way or the other.”

“In fairness, I am completely certain you have a strong preference for one of these women to be Minister of Religion,” Ferdinand pointed out, but he was perfectly cheerful, like he was telling a joke. “It would be most unlike you if you did not.”

“And, if I’m doing my  _ job _ , everyone in this room will be happy with that outcome,” Hubert said. “This isn’t a prisoners’ dilemma problem. We aren’t doing some obscure thought exercise; we are trying to ensure a smooth inheritance of power." He turned back to Mother and Eleonora and asked, "What is each of your preference for your position?"

"The ministry," Ellie said immediately.

"And I am the same," Mother admitted. "Hardly suited for a young girl to run."

"I fought in a war at her age," Hubert said, and the look on his face was devoid of any expression, save maybe confusion. "I was asked to command a battalion at twenty-one, Ferdinand was asked to do the same at eighteen, and yet I am supposed to believe Miss Varley is somehow incapable of close-reading some texts? No, I actually have a proposal for you that should satisfy some of your concerns about her youth and innocence in the big, scary world."

"Speak, then," Mother commanded. "What is your brilliant proposal?"

"When the estate is all sorted out, you return to Varley, which you endured separation from your husband for, and continue to manage the land. Your two daughters stay here, with Miss Varley as the Minister of Religion, and both girls come out into high society. When Miss Varley marries, she and Miss Melissandre move into Varley Manor down the street, as Miss Varley will then be an acceptable chaperone. Alternatively, the jobs are the same, but you stay here in Varley Manor until Miss Varley and possibly Miss Melissandre, as well, are married, and then your more flexible job will allow you to return to your holding, where you will have an empty nest and a bed built for two.”

There was an extremely uncomfortable pause as everyone looked at Hubert.

Hubert, for his part, calmly and unflinchingly met Mother’s eyes.

“Whatever it is that you believe you are suggesting--” Mother began, but Hubert interrupted her in the same calm, level tone he’d been using.

“In my line of business, a noblewoman who sees her husband perhaps five times a year keeping a lover hardly even counts as a scandal,” Hubert told her. “I am not mentioning this as some sort of judgement or threat; I am  _ reminding  _ you that, even if the work is not as challenging or glorious as you would prefer, there are other benefits to being somewhere more beautiful, around people you actually like.”

Tension built in Bernadetta’s head until she felt like she was going to explode. When Mother opened her mouth to speak again, Bernie was already asking, “How could you after everything you let Father do?”

Everyone stared at her now.

“Bernadetta, you don’t know what it’s--”

“He beat Sam half to death in my name!” Bernadetta reminded her, only vaguely aware she was screaming. “For what? Because he was a commoner! And you let it happen, you-- you-- you made sure I was at home and wouldn’t interfere! You told me to stop crying because it was  _ better  _ for him to know his place! You’ve refused to speak to me for seven years, why? Because Ferdinand was a little overzealous once? Or because I started making friends  _ you  _ didn’t approve of? What gives you the right? What gives you the right to sleep with a commoner without any apology to me?”

“Bernie,” Ferdinand said gently, rising, and she realized she didn’t know when she’d stood up.

“You are overstepping,” Mother said, and maybe she would have looked imperious once, with her sharp glare and her determined voice, but Bernie felt delirious with anger.

“Am I overstepping, or am I just pushing back?” Bernie asked. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had never been so furious. “I am a duchess in my own right and it’s because you and Father hated me so much, you jumped at any opportunity to disinherit me! You made  _ me  _ feel responsible, as a  _ child _ , for that poor boy being beaten within an inch of his life, and I’m overstepping if I’m angry at your hypocrisy?” She breathed heavily, not knowing what to say, and the stares of everyone in the room caught up to her, but she was still angry enough that she didn’t feel intimidated. Instead, she said, “I’m going for a ride. I may be a long time,” and turned to leave.

Heavy footsteps followed her. Ferdinand’s footsteps. “Darling, wait,” he said quietly. He fell into step with her and said, “Remember to take your coat. You may need it when the anger wears off.” A fresh wave of tears streamed down Bernie’s face and he ducked into the coat closet to pull out a jacket, which he tucked into her arms. “And have someone double-check your tack; I wouldn’t want you to fall and get hurt when you are already so upset. I will smooth things over with your mother, and we can talk when you return, okay?”

Bernie nodded. Outwardly, her anger was giving way to general despair, but there was a heat in her chest and she couldn’t let go of the thought of Mother defending Father’s brutalization of her only friend (and with Father dead and unable to apologize) and then turning around a decade later and taking a commoner as her lover, because who else would be close enough to the manor house in Varley? Even the surrounding gentry were far enough away that such an arrangement could never work.

Someone in town, though? That was just a short walk. That was do-able.

She didn’t remember retrieving her tack or lifting the saddle onto Marzipanstollen’s back. She didn’t remember deciding to ride Marzipanstollen. She did make sure to ask the groom to check her tack, and whether his unquestioning obedience was due to her open sobbing or her status, she couldn’t know.

Then she tossed her coat up across Marzi’s shoulders and pulled up her skirts to jump up, herself, and she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! So, do you think Hubert killed Count Varley, or something else? The answer is already written down, so it won't change, but what do you think?


	18. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta and her family mourn her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up much longer than usual, but I really wanted to get to the end of the funeral! Enjoy a long chapter for Fernadetta week!

During the War, Ferdinand had spent plenty of time hovering about the stables, cleaning and tidying as if it would have any impact on the eventual safety of his troops. He couldn’t say he enjoyed this return to that feeling, but there was nothing to do until Bernie returned. Her mother was placated, Hubert was sent home, and the young ladies had both decided to turn in early.

The jaunty clop of a trot approached until it could only be coming to the Aegir stable. He heard the shifting fabric and soft thud of someone dismounting, and then Bernie led Marzipanstollen into the stable on foot.

“Oh. Ferdinand,” she said when she saw him. She was wearing her coat, her cheeks flushed from exertion and the evening chill.

“Bernadetta,” he said, and reached out to cup her face and kiss her. Her cheek was so cold. “Are you feeling better?”

She didn’t look at him as she said, “A little.” She hugged her arms against her stomach.

“There is dinner waiting for you,” he told her. “And I have convinced your mother that tensions were just high on all sides because you were both grieving. If you apologize to her, however cursorily, we should all be on good terms again.” The desperate, anxious part of him wanted to ask: _see how well I did for you? See how much I’ve improved from the time I was the cause of her anger? See how well I am protecting not only you, but your sisters?_ But he kept those thoughts to himself for now. He would bring it up the next time he was in particular need of reassurance, when Bernadetta was more equipped to handle it.

Bernie looked like she had a lot to say that wouldn’t serve her right now, as well, but she said, “Thank you. I’ll go do that. Meet you in the dining room?”

“I will see to Marzi and meet you there,” Ferdinand promised, and kissed her again. “I am so relieved to have you home.”

He agonized over whether he’d said the right things as he removed Marzipanstollen’s tack and combed her down. He hadn’t even known about that moment in Bernadetta’s history until she’d blown up at her mother, but he was willing to believe her father had someone beaten in order to isolate her, and he was willing to believe the woman who would wait hours before begging lenience when her own daughter was tied up had allowed it.

He couldn’t wait until Lady Varley was out of his house and he didn’t have to hold his tongue around her anymore. It still seemed Miss Eleonora would be taking the Minister of Religion position, which Ferdinand was grateful for; it had been sickening to sit in the same room as Count Varley and treat him as if anything he said could possibly be legitimate, and he predicted he would form a similar opinion of his mother-in-law sooner, rather than later.

He murmured his troubles to the horse to get them out before he saw Bernie again. As frustrated as he felt, Bernadetta surely felt all of it more keenly and more deeply. They just needed enough of a truce for Eleonora and Melissandre to be able to come out properly, and then they could ignore Lady Varley as completely as they had ignored her husband.

When he got back to the dining room, Bernadetta was sitting at her place, but her food was untouched and her shoulders were tense.

“Bernie?” he asked, and went to kneel next to her. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and her voice was whispery and faint. “I tried so hard. You have to believe me: I want to be a good wife and obey you.”

Something was deeply wrong. Bernie was shaking. “What happened, my love? Did she yell at you again?” He’d been sure he’d talked her down adequately. He put a hand on Bernadetta’s delicate shoulder. It still fascinated him how much of her tiny shoulder could fit in his hand.

“I couldn’t talk to her,” Bernie whispered. She was shaking. “I tried, I promise. I don’t want to get in the way of your plans. I’m sorry. I know it was important to you, so I tried as hard as I could.”

“Important to me?” Ferdie asked. No, that was all wrong. He had consoled Lady Varley for Bernie’s sake. “I thought you wanted me to fix it for you.”

“Please don’t be mad,” Bernie said, her voice barely audible even though Ferdinand had expected it to be quiet. “I did my best.”

That was when the pieces came together: Bernie wasn’t just upset. She was afraid of him.

He removed his hand from her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “Please believe me, my love,” he implored quietly. “There is no love lost between your mother and me. I only thought you wanted to keep up a good relationship with her for the sake of your sisters, but if you have no interest in rebuilding that bridge, then neither do I.”

"You can just tell me how mad you are," she told him. "I can take it. And I'd rather it didn't come out at a worse time." She had shrunk into herself, her shoulders protecting her neck, her eyes downcast. She still trembled.

"None of my anger is at you," Ferdie reassured her. "And it comprises very little of what I am feeling. I am mostly worried that, after all these years, you thought I was commanding you to do something you had no desire to do." How many times had the same thing happened, and Bernadetta had stayed quiet and obeyed him against her will? "I am worried that there are other times when you have obeyed me without voicing your own, very real, concerns."

It wasn't an argument Bernie had considered, or they would have talked about it before, so Ferdinand didn't worry (or, tried not to worry) when it took her several seconds to respond. At last she said, "I was not taught to question my husband, and in fact, I was taught that if I did question my husband, he would punish me. You have always been kind and forgiving, but the fear is still there. Everyone has a limit to what they can handle, and the only limit I've found you to have was when I thought you and Hubert were together and you felt I didn't trust you. But how badly would I have to hurt you politically for you to snap? How badly would I have to behave in front of you for you to admonish me? How distastefully would I have to act for you to say one unkind word about me to others? I don't know. I knew exactly what my father's boundaries were, even when I overstepped them. Your kindness is so expansive, I have no idea how to act. And I like that! I certainly enjoy being treated well. But I still want to do my best not to push at the edges of what you might think was acceptable." She wasn't shaking anymore. Perhaps she had reminded herself that Ferdinand had never hit her, never touched her any way but gently unless she was hurting herself in a nervous fit.

"I know we ran into this problem when we were newly married," Ferdinand admitted, feeling guilty for not addressing it sooner. He had sort of assumed it had gone away on its own as Bernadetta got to know him better. "I wonder if, now that you feel safer, you will be able to hear me better. I do not think of our relationship in terms of what is acceptable or unacceptable. I never have, and I know it has caused a lot of difficulty for us. The way I approach our marriage is: I love you, and I support you as your husband, and I only hope I can be kind enough to receive your love in return." Bernie was sparing with her declarations of love, and Ferdinand had always tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything, that some people were simply more reserved with their emotions, tried to look at her actions instead, but at the core of things, he did know he was difficult to love. He was overeager, even obnoxious, so he did his best to earn her affection.

"That… might be a problem," Bernie admitted in a very soft whisper. "Because I… I'm not sure I believe that love exists? Or, if it does, I'm not sure I think it means anything. And I care about you very deeply, and I feel so much gratitude to you. I truly want to make you happy and give you what you want. But what does love do if it didn't protect me from any of the things my father did?"

Her words cut him to the bone. There was only one thing he really needed from their marriage, only one thing he was really striving for. Maybe he’d never been able to earn his father’s love, or his governess’, but he’d thought, with enough time and consideration, he would be able to be loved by Bernadetta. But she didn’t even think herself capable of loving anyone. He’d been seeking something that didn’t exist.

He’d always been so stupid, hadn’t he?

“I can’t… I really think I’m not able to think that way,” Bernie continued. “You can ask me for anything else. You can ask me for my loyalty, or my obedience, or my forgiveness, and all of them are yours, as much as I’m able to give. But what does love do? How do you measure it? How do you act on it? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it when it couldn’t be called something else.”

It wasn’t even a betrayal. It didn’t matter enough to her to be one. It was just another of the many, many times Ferdinand had been too demanding, too needy, too _much,_ and it hurt just as keenly as it had when he was younger. “Could I ask you to hold me very tightly tonight?” he asked. His voice shook. Tears fell down his face. “Even if… Even if you feel nothing for me, I would like to pretend.” It was shameful, really. He was so manipulative, so greedy, always asking for more than people wanted to give freely. In his better moments, he could pretend that other people were just as selfish. But, right now, he just felt like a leech.

“That isn’t how I meant it,” Bernie said, and surged toward him to hug him. He let her. He wasn’t sure he could have moved to stop her. “I care about you very deeply, Ferdinand. I think I would even call what I feel ‘love.’ But does that even mean anything in a relationship? Does it matter more than tenderness or dedication or compassion? If I am to believe that my father loved me, and I really think he did, then the feelings you have for me are so much better and more important than love.” She squeezed him a little tighter, and added more quietly, “And of course I’ll hold you.”

"I'm sorry to impose, when you are in mourning and your mother just--"

Bernie shushed him, which was for the best, really. How could he dare to offer an apology while making such a demand of her? "We have both had a difficult night," she said, which was true, but there was definitely a difference of degrees between how difficult their evenings had been. Until this moment, Ferdinand had been doing what he did best: defusing a fraught situation and ensuring the future stability of the Adrestian Empire. Bernadetta had been reliving the abuse of her childhood, and now had to comfort her husband. "I think I can eat now, now that I know you aren't mad at me. Does food ever stop tasting like dust?" She sat back again, looking at her plate.

"It does," Ferdie promised her. He remembered the feeling well: the constant mild nausea and lack of hunger, the need to consciously process the taste of food instead of being able to enjoy it for what it was. It had happened after Fhirdiad, too. "The mourning will ease and your mouth and stomach will be as they were." He took her hand, the one closer to him, and kissed it. "You will be as you were. Just like me. Just like Hubert. It takes time, but it happens."

She nodded and picked up her fork. "And you're not mad at me?" she asked before taking a bite.

"I am very disappointed in myself?" Ferdinand said, and his voice cracked. He wasn't even sure if he should be admitting that. "I have been asking for something you could not offer, and holding you responsible. It was hardly noble of me. Hardly human of me."

"Ferdie…" Bernie reached out and he gave her one of his hands. She held it in both of her own and it looked comically large. "I care about you, Ferdie. I do. I care about you more than anyone except my sisters. But why would I ask for your love when, ever since my father died, you have given me your tenderness and considerateness? I don't doubt that you love me. But, if love is what kept you by my side these past days, comforting me and handling my affairs, I've mistaken it for something else. Something that's more real to me."

Ferdinand stood, hoping he could get a grip on himself. He leaned over to kiss Bernie on the head. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Maybe she did love him, but couldn't call it that. That could probably be close enough. "I think I've made something of a fool of myself tonight," he admitted. "Would you like me here with you, or should I wait for you upstairs?" He wanted to hang on her every movement, but she so often needed time alone.

“My words… were taken to be cruel,” Bernie said, looking down at her lap. “I understand if you don’t want to stay by my side.”

“I will do what you need, my love,” Ferdinand promised her. “It is entirely your decision to make.”

Bernie pressed her lips together, and then asked, “Could you sit with me?” She looked guilty.

“Gladly,” Ferdie told her, and pulled out a chair cat-corner from hers. "And I am… more upset than I would like, but I am still glad we had this conversation. Maybe it will prevent future misunderstandings." He felt a familiar throbbing behind his eyes and hoped more tears wouldn't fall. He'd embarrassed himself enough already.

Bernadetta finally ate. It was difficult, Ferdinand knew, when you were overtaken by such strong emotions, but as he had said to her earlier that week: even if she had no interest in food, it was important to maintain her body for the sake of her future self. There was nothing about her situation that would be improved by hunger.

"What are your plans for your sisters, if your mother does not factor into them?" Ferdinand asked. "Or do you plan to be the one who is less figural in their lives?"

"I don't know," Bernie said, and she sounded very upset. "I know, even if you will not admit it, that I ruined your plans. But please do not mock me for my weakness."

Ferdinand froze. "You don-- You just told me they are two of the people you care most about in the world," he reminded her, feeling slightly horrified. "So, what would you like to happen to them?"

"I don't know," Bernie said again, more forcefully. "Not only because I am upset; because we have only exchanged occasional letters since my marriage. Do I want Eleonora to be the next Minister of Religion, or do I want her to find a good husband? Apparently, Sandy is off to become a knight, which I was not aware she wanted; would she prefer a marriage, or is that the life she chose for herself?"

Ferdinand took a deep breath. He didn’t like pressuring his wife into action, but… “Then, in the interest of looking out for their futures, I must strongly suggest that, when you are done eating, you see if they are awake and ask what their goals are in the near future. Then we will be better able to help them.” Bernadetta was no stranger to gathering information or making plans. If such tasks seemed insurmountable, it must have been because of the feelings tied up in these particular plans.

“My mother will think we are plotting something,” Bernie protested.

“You will, in fact, be plotting to secure their futures,” Ferdie reminded her. “Surely, she wants all three of her daughters to be secure and well cared for. I will not force you to reconcile with your mother when you are unable to, but I do insist that we form some sort of plan for how to move forward.”

“I will speak to them,” Bernie said. Was it an agreement or an acquiescence? Ferdinand wasn’t certain he knew how to tell.

“It is nothing you would have trouble with if your other circumstances were not so overwhelming,” Ferdinand pointed out. “They are only your sisters, my love. There is nothing harmful in trying to get good information.”

Bernie nodded and took another bite of her dinner.

“You know I would love to help, but they know you better,” he said. “They will trust you more. And I fear, if it was me, your mother really would think we were conspiring to some nefarious end and I would be unable to convince her otherwise.”

“If she… If she plans to stay in Varley, it will be well,” Bernie pointed out. “We will only need to stay cordial while she remains here, a few weeks at most. But I would prefer not to spend those few weeks feeling the way I used to feel at home. I have enjoyed moving about freely in my own house.”

“I am at your command, as far as your mother goes,” Ferdinand reminded her. “If you need me to make peace with her, I am happy to de-escalate. If you need me to banish her from our house, I am glad to do that, as well. It is your family and you know them best.” He rose and kissed her on the head.

“I just want to ensure that Ellie inherits,” Bernie told him. “Beyond that, everything can be fixed with time, but she has stayed in Varley, learning her role, while I was given an easy out, and she deserves what she was promised. I will consult with her and Sandy about how to handle Mother.”

To Ferdinand’s thinking, there was nothing “easy” about being married to a stranger, believing you were entirely under his control, being taken from everything familiar so your husband could study warmaking, and then being the wife of a general during a continent-wide war. It spoke to how severe Bernie’s mother must have been that all of that was preferable to living in the country with her family.

“You have my gratitude,” he told his wife. “You thanked me for looking after your affairs during this time, and this is no different from any of that. I would like to be able to bundle you up in blankets and keep you comfortably in our bedroom until you feel ready to get up, but I know you understand as well as I do that there are some things only you can do.”

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie slipped upstairs as her dinner settled in her stomach. Food held little appeal for her, she was in such a state. She knocked on her sisters' door.

"Who is it?" Eleonora's voice asked.

"Bernie," she said.

Sandy called for her to come in, so she did, shutting the door behind her. But Ellie was shooting their younger sister a dirty look when she did.

The first thing Ellie said was, "Have you apologized to Mother yet?" She looked tense and serious, not at all like the distraught yet familiar young lady Bernie had been reunited with earlier.

"I… I tried," Bernie told her. "Were you old enough to remember when it happened? The beating, I mean."

"Sam is alive and well and is the miller of Varley Township, just like his father before him," Ellie told her. "He was hurt, yes, but he lives a good life. Mother has no power over you, but she does over us. She can decide she is taking the Ministry position, after all, and send Sandy and me back to Varley, and then pick a new heir. It would be far from unheard of. Have you spoken to Duke Aegir yet?”

Bernie nodded. “He told me to apologize to Mother, but he was understanding when I could not. He reminded me that the most important question I can ask is what the two of you are looking to in your futures, whether you want husbands, or political power, or independence…”

“Wait, wait,” Sandy said. “He was okay with it? Just like that? After he debased himself for you?”

Bernie paused. Ferdinand had focused mostly on reassuring her; he had spoken very little of his own role. “After he what?” she asked.

Sandy frowned at her, looking her up and down. “He placated Mother on your behalf,” she said. “You know that isn’t easy. And after you made such a dramatic scene.”

“He… did not mention it beyond the fact that he had done it,” Bernie admitted. What details had Ferdinand omitted?

“It was very clear he was saying whatever would help,” Sandy said. “Even going as far as to admit that he had not been as strict with you as he should, and taking all your bad behavior onto his own shoulders. Of course, Mother knew it was overkill, but I think she enjoyed knowing she had him in her pocket.”

“You must apologize,” Ellie urged. “For your husband’s sake, if not for ours. You do not want to end up indebted to a man who makes such elaborate shows of dedication.”

Eleonora was right, of course. She had always been the more sensible of the two of them. “And you think Mother will accept my apology?” she confirmed.

“She will,” Sandy said. “The bulk of it has been done. And then we can speak to each other as sisters again.”

Bernie nodded and stood. Her feelings roiled inside her, made her feel sick and dizzy, but she set her shoulders before leaving her sisters’ room and took a deep breath to steady herself before knocking on Mother’s door.

“Who is it?” Mother’s voice asked disinterestedly from inside. “Come in.”

Bernie entered and Mother was in bed, in her bedclothes, reading a book. “Oh, Bernie,” she said, just recognizing who it was. She moved her bookmark to her current place and put the book down. “I was sure you were going to avoid me; I heard you come home some time ago.”

Bernie lowered her head in respect and said, “I have come to apologize. I was overwhelmed, in my grief, and I never should have done or said any of that.” Her voice shook. She had given false apologies before, but not recently. "I am so, so sorry for blaming you for things I am sure you never wanted to do, and so dramatically, and in front of a guest."

“I am glad you realized,” Mother told her. “I know you were not raised that way. But you always needed a firm hand and I know young men often make for lax husbands.” She sighed and asked, “What shall we do with your sisters?” and Bernadetta knew, she was certain, that she was forgiven, as much as Mother ever forgave anybody.

“I was about to speak to them,” Bernie told her. “If they stay in the City, they will have all the opportunities Ferdinand and I can give them. Ellie would be a powerful Minister in her own right, which will be very attractive to men of our station. And rowdy young men who hope to become knights tend to appreciate women who can match them.”

“What of your Minister Vestra? Does he do anything other than make eyes at his fellow Ministers?”

Bernie froze.

Mother mistook Bernie’s hesitation for confusion because she said, “Oh, don’t look like that. It is not uncommon. Twenty-seven, right? And still unmarried? Do you suppose it would be considered nepotism for two Ministers of the Imperial Cabinet to be married to one another?”

“I do not think Eleonora would like him as a husband,” Bernie said, wondering how she could be gentle enough that Mother wouldn’t learn about Ferdinand and Hubert, but also firm enough that she wouldn’t push Eleonora toward Hubert. “He is certainly Ferdinand’s and my friend, but he is… something of an acquired taste. That works for me, though, because he agrees with me on how cute my flytraps and pitcher plants are.”

“Ah, just a bit of an oddball, then,” Mother said, as if she had anything wise or astute to say about someone Bernie knew so much better than her. “But, if that’s true, then you’re probably right: Eleonora could do much better.” She yawned and said, “I must be tired; here I am asking you about things we could easily discuss in the morning, or even in a week. You get a good sleep, Bernie, and do talk with your sisters, will you?”

“Of course,” Bernie said, and dipped in a small curtsey. She let herself out, then walked into Ellie and Sandy’s room without knocking.

“I did it,” she said when the door was shut. “We’re on good terms. We talked about your marriage prospects.”

Ellie and Sandy were relaxing, Sandy sitting and Ellie lying down. Ellie propped herself up to something like a sitting position and said, “Excellent. Thank you so much, Bernie.”

“Can nobody think of anything but marriage?” Sandy asked. “I know we are old, but that is hardly either of our fault, and tomorrow we will be attending a funeral.”

“And then, a month later, you will come out of mourning,” Bernie reminded her. “Marriage is your future. It is the circumstances you will spend your life in.” She lowered her voice to add, “If you wish not to be married, Ferdinand is very good at putting on a show of helping while doing very little, but we are also entirely prepared to help you in your search.”

“Can I find an unambitious husband?” Ellie asked as she lay back down. “One who likes numbers and will be content to stay in Varley and do the accounts and the taxes? I am about to gain power beyond what I ever imagined.”

Bernie smiled. Grinned, really. “I am sure we can ensure that you are unmarried by the time you become Minister of Religion, and holding onto such a title should not be difficult.”

“I am much too tired to think about marriage,” Sandy admitted. “A full day in a tiny, hot box with Mother would tire anyone out. Does Duke Aegir snap at the servants so?”

“Hardly ever,” Bernie told her. “He barely snaps at anybody. He is almost excessively good-humored.” And, when he was upset, he took the pain upon himself and assumed everything was his own fault. Bernie did her best to help with that.

“I would like a good-tempered husband,” Ellie said. She sounded as tired as Sandy. “With those exceedingly broad shoulders, too, as long as I’m dreaming up impossible men.”

“And the hair,” Bernie teased. “It took a bit of getting used to, but I am very fond of it now.” And how nice it was, to be able to conspire with Hubert to make Ferdinand keep it long!

"I would enjoy some long hair," Sandy said, and left it at that.

"I will leave you to it, then," Bernie told her sisters. "Let me hug you both goodnight and I will leave. Just know that you will have Ferdinand's and my complete support in all your endeavors, whatever they are." She hugged Sandy and kissed her on the cheek, and then walked around the bed to do the same to Eleonora. "I missed you both so much. I am overjoyed to see you again, and Ferdinand is excited to get to know you both."

Her sisters said good night and she went to her room.

Ferdinand was already there, working on his nightly preening regimen in front of the vanity. He greeted her when she came in, and she smiled wearily and greeted him back. When he put his tweezers down, she went to lean over his shoulders in an exhausted, loose hug.

"Privacy at last," Ferdie said as he pulled her arms to his chest. "Were your sisters so tiring, darling? Or is it just that you have not had any time to rest?" He tilted his face toward hers in a gesture she'd come to recognize as affectionate. Soon, his face would be covered in his night cream and any attempts to snuggle against it would feel clammy. Bernie took a deep breath.

"I apologized to my mother," she said, and felt her voice start to shake. "You should have told me how hard you worked to apologize to her. How much you demeaned yourself. I would have understood."

"You didn't have to," Ferdinand said, and pulled her face closer to his. "Bernadetta… My actions are not your responsibility. Your mother already thought badly of me; it was no trouble.” He shook her off and then stood and turned to hug her. “It was a much greater trial for you to apologize than it was for me. I think it will serve you well, but I am still sorry you felt you had to do it.” His fingers combed through her hair. Most of her head could fit in his hand.

She sagged against his chest. "How can you blame me for doing my best to obey you when you are always ready to go to such great lengths for me?" she asked him. "It is absolutely the same."

"I will believe you," he told her. "Perhaps we should both get better at discussing these things. You look dead on your feet, my love; come take your clothes off and I will finish at the vanity, and we can turn in early tonight." His strong hand moved from her head to rub vigorously up and down her back a couple times and he pulled away from her.

She went to sit on the bed and begin untying her sock garters. One of them had turned from a bow into a more difficult knot, and the memory of apologizing to her mother along with memories of her first friend outside her family made it difficult to get her fingers to work.

Ferdinand had apparently been near the end of his routine because he came over while one sock was sagging halfway down Bernie's calf and the other garter hadn't been untied yet. He took her hands in his, kissed both of them, and then made quick work of the remaining knot and slid her stockings off gently. She wished she was capable enough to feel indignant instead of grateful.

Ferdinand directed her quietly and helped her with her accessories, her dress, and most of her underlayers. Bernie put away her accessories while her husband hung her petticoats and dress in the wardrobe, and even though she had less to do, it took them the same time. They met back up as they crawled under the covers, both pausing when the other didn't turn around.

"I said I would hold you," Bernie reminded her husband. It was one of only a small number of things he'd ever asked of her.

"You are so tired, Bernie. You could barely undress yourself." Ferdinand stroked her face and she closed her eyes and enjoyed it.

"You ask so little of me," she pointed out. "Let me do this for you. I do not need to move or think to hold you."

Ferdinand finally acquiesced and Bernie wriggled forward to wrap her arms around him. They fit smoothly together in their loose nightwear, and Bernie enjoyed feeling the broad expanse of Ferdinand's chest under her hand.

"What shall I call you to show my affection?" she asked into the nape of his neck. "You certainly have that. And my adoration. My admiration…"

Ferdinand curled up a bit, his shoulders pulling in like they did sometimes when he had nightmares. Bernie kissed the back of his neck through all that long hair.

"What would you like, my darling?" she asked, smiling at the exhilaration of calling him a pet name. She was tired, tired fit to lull herself to sleep with such soft speech, but she couldn't let Ferdinand think she didn't care. She hadn't been lying earlier; she really didn't think love, alone, counted for much of anything. It had certainly never stopped her parents from hurting her. But there were lots of sweet alternatives.

Ferdinand drew a deep breath, shuddering fiercely, and then said something in a terribly small voice.

"Ferdie?" She pulled back enough to prop herself up on her elbow, frowning. She couldn't remember him ever sounding like that. Was she that worrying when she went quiet?

"Just hold me," he said, and she was sure it wasn't what he'd said before.

She lay back down, settled against him again, and couldn't help worrying, once again, about the way he shrank in on himself.

"My thoughtful husband," she murmured. "My considerate husband, who is always putting my needs ahead of his own. My gentle husband, who is strong and capable, but has never once laid a hand on me."

She kissed the back of his shoulder and began to drift. She didn't say anything more, and was asleep in moments.

.-._.-._.-._

Morning came, as mornings always did. Fog had come in overnight and Bernie knew her husband would have difficulty getting out of bed.

She lay still for a while and just breathed, allowing herself some time to come to consciousness before she did anything. Before long, Ferdinand was awake, looking tired with puffy eyes and his usual messy hair. He had turned to face her in the night.

Bernie said a soft "good morning" and kissed Ferdinand on each eyelid, just as she did when he'd woken in the night with a nightmare. “Fog came in,” she told him before he had a chance to move his leg and notice whether it hurt very badly.

“I know,” Ferdie told her sleepily. His eyes were still nearly shut, but he was smiling a bit ever since Bernadetta had kissed him. “Please… Please blame my behavior last night on the damp. I know it was unbecoming…”

“You were perfectly gentlemanly,” Bernie told him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did everything as well as you could, and we will be far too busy this morning for should-haves. I should have spoken much more gently than I did. Will you need help getting up?”

“Not this early in the year,” Ferdinand told her with a tight smile. “Some balm and one of your sweet kisses and I will be well.”

Bernie leaned forward for a quick peck and then pulled her covers aside and sat up to stretch her back and neck. She went to the vanity to pull Ferdinand’s pain balm from the back of a drawer and put it on his tray of lotions and perfumes and powders. It had taken her some time to figure out that her husband was more insecure than vain, that he was not a great believer in his own beauty like the new Duke of Gloucester, but instead feared being caught looking less than perfect by his peers. At the slightest excuse, all but his hygienic routines would fall away, and even haircuts had fallen by the wayside for years during the War. Bernie wasn’t sure what Ferdinand could possibly have to prove, since he was already a very successful Prime Minister, but she wasn’t in the habit of poking at people’s insecurities.

Ferdinand was moving, too. As Bernadetta went to collect her stockings, he sat up and sighed wearily, a sigh that, if she were looking at him, she knew would have gone along with slow, careful kneading of his thigh muscles and even more careful massaging of his knee. She focused on her footwear so that maybe he wouldn’t have to bother dressing her again.

Ferdinand got up and lurched to the vanity. Bernie heard the jar opening and, a few moments later, smelled the sharp herbal scent of the pain balm. Ferdinand was applying his morning face cream by the time he said, “I thought I might get myself a cane this year.”

“That would look very smart,” Bernie said, as if she was just now considering the possibility. She’d meant to suggest it during the summer, when it wouldn’t matter, but it had been her busiest summer in years. She didn’t want to spend another Winter watching her husband cling to furniture and stand after everyone else in the room. “Maybe with a nice, decorated handle. That would be charming.” She tied her second sock garter and folded the excess fabric down over it.

Ferdinand didn’t say anything, though he made a soft noise to acknowledge what she'd said. She probably wouldn’t hear about it again until he was ready to purchase or commission a cane. Today, he would just get along as he always had on cold, damp days. Anyway, the fog would probably burn off by midday and he would feel better.

Ferdinand helped Bernie with her stays before she put on any of her overlayers, and she gave him a plain braid down his back when they were both finished dressing. Then they both helped each other to steel themselves for the long day ahead and Bernie went to go see if Mother needed any help.

Mother, Ellie, and Sandy were all in Mother's room, putting the finishing touches on their outfits. A funeral was meant to be austere, so the few accessories mourners were allowed had to be just right. Sandy's hair was short now, but Eleonora's was freshly taped into a blue wreath around her head, simple and neat.

Mother wore jewelry that she had received as gifts for holidays and birthdays, most of it in Bernie's memory, all of it from Father. She was the picture of a grieving widow: austere, yet sentimental; somber, yet appropriate; severe, yet with the suggestion about her that she was falling apart underneath. Bernie wished she could play her role so well; all she had were her genuine conflicted feelings and no way to control them.

"That should do," Mother said as she pinned an understated brooch onto Ellie's collar. "Bernadetta, do we look appropriate for Enbarr? You know the City better than we do."

"You look just right," Bernie reassured them. She looked her sisters, in particular, up and down, but they truly did look like any other Adrestian mourners. "Come downstairs and we can see about some tea before the other ministers come for breakfast."

Morning tea was quiet. A maid poured the tea; Ferdinand was too busy ensuring the family was comfortable, and Bernadetta didn't trust her hands not to shake. They went over the day's agenda: the Ministers of the Royal Cabinet would come for breakfast, supposedly to help Mother sort out the future of County Varley and its leadership, but really to ensure she did something they could condone. Then the whole lot of them would go in their fine carriages and mourning clothing to the Royal Palace for the public funeral, including the viewing of the body. The burial would follow, with as many witnesses as wanted to see, and then a private memorial service for family and close friends. After all that, they would reconvene at Varley Manor for an evening reception meant to distract them into eating something resembling dinner.

Sandy's questions about the day's plans were starting to feel intentionally obtuse when the housekeeper came and told Ferdinand that Count Bergliez and his son had arrived and Ferdinand said that they could receive them in the sitting room, thank you.

Count Bergliez was an unpleasant man, and his eldest son wasn't notably better. From Bernadetta's few dealings with them, she could understand why Mr. Caspar von Bergliez (who surely had a different name now) had run off with his boyfriend at the first opportunity. Count Bergliez was seldom satisfied, even when things were going in his favor, and complained constantly about the same people he was duty-bound to serve. His son had the same bad habits, and Mr. Bergliez seemed barely able to speak without expressing his contempt for commoners. But the two men walked into Bernie and Ferdinand's parlor and gave stiff nods to Ferdinand, and then Count Bergliez took Mother's hand and bowed, so that her hand nearly touched his chest. "Our deepest condolences to you, Lady Varley," he said, and Mr. Bergliez said something like "deepest condolences" with his head dipped down in a very shallow bow, and then Ferdinand rose as the count straightened back up.

"If guests are arriving, we had best move into the dining room," Ferdinand pointed out. "We can at least be seated, and the other ministers should arrive shortly."

That they did, all within the next ten minutes, and Ferdinand, Bernadetta, and Mother greeted all of them. Bernie felt completely out of her element, having always preferred more intimate settings where she didn't have to remember and perform all the formalities. Her voice and hands shook, and eventually she was guided to a chair.

Breakfast was simple: oat porridge with a few other grains and some dried fruit, nothing that would upset people's stomachs when they were already distraught. A breakfast featuring the entirety of the Imperial Cabinet would normally be a lavish affair, featuring several kinds of eggs, pastries and toast, fine meats, imported fruits, and the momentous opening of one of the spiced jams the cook had put up over the summer for particularly special occasions. But, considering their reason for gathering, nobody complained of the simpler fare of a household in mourning, instead politely asking to pass the porridge or cream as needed.

Even Ferdinand had forgone the eye powder he usually wore after a rough night, instead allowing himself to look like a proper mourner with sullen purple under his eyes.

The conversation was quiet, but Bernadetta knew better than to mistake the polite tones for indifference. Duke Gerth started them off, with, "So, my good lady, have you made any plans about the future of your estate?" and the game was afoot.

Everyone in that room had a way they wanted Father's titles and land to be divided, Bernie included. For some, it was a matter of convenience, but for others, like Bernie, it was a matter of utmost importance.

"I discussed it with the family last night," Mother said. "My Eleonora will be taking over the Ministry of Religion, at least until we are able to find her a husband." That was that on that, and everybody in the room could tell. Hubert wore a small, very pleased smile.

"You must be glad to have your sisters in town, Lady Aegir, even with the horrible circumstances," Count Hevring's protégé said. Mr. Gilford, that was his name. She didn’t like him, but he seemed polite and efficient, a good choice for the heir to a Ministry position, even if he held the same uptight views as the current Minister.

"I am," Bernie admitted. "And my mother, as well, of course. Somebody had to keep things running in Varley, and my mother is, naturally, an expert in managing our land. Eleonora was learning, but Mother has managed it so well all these years, and there is no one better." She was running her mouth. She should have agreed and then stopped. Everything she said was true, except that she was enjoying seeing her mother, but did she come off as if she was covering something up?

The conversation continued, a strange mix of condolences for Father's death and congratulations for Eleonora's sudden rise in society. They moved back to the sitting room when it was clear they were done with breakfast, but it was still not time to go to the funeral.

"Lady Aegir, may I ask you a question?" Mr. Bergliez said, and she turned to him and said of course. "Your sister, Miss Varley… I am certain she is as clever as any young lady her age can be. But do you really think her fit to be Minister of Religion?"

"I am a bit biased," she pointed out. She had fielded similar questions many times on Ferdinand's behalf. "My husband is twenty-four, and I will be, too, soon. I can tell you with certainty that my sister is brilliant, even-tempered, and fair-minded. Or, at least she was at fifteen, and those qualities only tend to improve over time. She should be entirely fit for her new position."

"Marquis Vestra, you look as though you've barely slept," Mother said from halfway across the room. "Don't tell me you were up late on my husband's account."

"After a fashion, Lady Varley," Hubert said, and it occurred to Bernie for the very first time that maybe Hubert disliked crowds as much as she did; he certainly seemed nervous enough. "Last night, the last of my tests and spells came up clean. I can now absolutely assure you there was no foul play involved in his death."

"Just in time for the funeral, it would seem," Mother pointed out.

"It always takes five days," Hubert assured her. "If you had arrived tonight, I would have been able to give you the news when you arrived. But, truly, do not worry yourself over me; I am perfectly accustomed to late nights."

The conversations in the sitting room all seemed loaded, and Bernadetta was relieved when it was time to head out for the Palace. At least then she was with her family, and only her family.

The ride was characterized by all the Varley women losing and regaining control of their emotions by turns, which any of them would readily deny. Ferdinand walked Bernie's sisters through the basic steps of the public funeral while assuring them that nothing much would be asked of them except that they sit quietly, and then reminded them of the ritual words to say at the burial. Mother checked and straightened all their clothes, including Ferdinand's, before the carriage parked; she was determined to look dignified.

They exited the carriage with as much grace as possible: Mother, Bernie, Ellie, Sandy, and then Ferdinand. They were led into the same large chapel space where noble weddings were held, formerly used for the Emperor's public, weekly prayer services.

"Public" was, perhaps, a strong word. Despite Emperor Edelgard's reforms, there was still a powerful distinction between those who ran the Empire and those who just lived in it. But this service did include representatives of the press, families Bernadetta barely knew that were presumably noble, and many members of Father's household from the city house.

Emperor Edelgard arrived, too, and sat in the front with them, offering condolences to Mother, then Bernie, then Ellie and Sandy as a pair, and then asking Ferdinand how he was holding up much more casually.

"I am well," he told her. "I have stayed home to support Bernadetta and her family, but I will return when deep mourning is over. How is Hubert faring? I have barely seen him; I can hardly keep our afternoon teatime when Bernadetta needs me at home."

"As well as can be expected without his favorite cipherer," the Emperor responded casually. "And he's been running all the postmortem tests, for poison and such, which he assures me isn't difficult, but requires long hours. I won't pretend it's unlike him to run himself ragged, but…"

"I can speak to him when I come out of mourning," Ferdinand told her. "He listens to you more than me, but if he hears you have been so worried about him that you have discussed it with other Ministers, that should be some motivation."

Bernadetta's head was full of questions: who was Hubert's favorite cipherer? Why had he never mentioned he had a favorite to her, and would that person inherit his title someday? Who had gone on break while Bernadetta was mourning? And did the Emperor know anything about Ferdinand and Hubert?

The Emperor had started speaking to her while she was wondering. Bernie started paying attention in time to hear, "--liked to get to know you better while Ferdinand and I were in school, but here we are, I suppose. I can barely thank you enough for steadying Ferdinand and taking some of Hubert's work off his hands; my entire cabinet is stronger for your influence, and I am sure you will be a help to Miss Varley, as well."

She was smiling very gently and kindly at Bernadetta. Years ago, she had always seemed intimidating and unreachable, but now Bernadetta wondered if she had gotten that opinion from Ferdinand instead of her own observations. She seemed very friendly and approachable now.

"I will do my best," Bernie promised. Was she supposed to say more? Was she being curt with the Emperor of Adrestia? What else should she say?

"Hubert and I will, of course, also help guide her as much as we can, but you know Bernadetta's support is invaluable to people in all fields," Ferdinand joked. Then a man who Bernadetta vaguely recognized from state dinners, who was probably the interim Minister of Religion since he was someone high-ranking from Father's department, walked up onto the dais at the front of the room and everyone started to quiet down.

The funeral was boring. It was full of half-truths about Bernadetta's father, the kind she had heard about him her whole life, and did little to memorialize the man who had joined an insurrection that resulted in the current Emperor's torture. The man being remembered was not the one whose eldest daughter had routinely blockaded her bedroom door when he was home. Bernadetta wondered if she seemed cold for sitting quietly through the service, or if it would be generally understood that she was numb, or cried out, or any other acceptable mode of tearless mourning.

Tired from attending a funeral for the sanitized, public persona of her father, Bernadetta leaned on Ferdinand's arm a bit as they walked to the gravesite. Father would be buried beside the other Ministers of Religion from the past several centuries, in honor of his service to Adrestia. In death, he would not disgrace the land that Bernie's sisters would hold onto.

The casket was lowered into the grave and then the interim Minister from before said some ceremonial words, Mother said the traditional blessing for burying a husband (I, Eugenia von Varley, did see my husband Walter lowered into the ground, and I will see him covered and resting there) and then she took the shovel from the pile of dirt next to the grave and scooped the first small amount of dirt into the hole. Bernadetta said the same (I, Bernadetta von Aegir née Varley, did see my father Walter lowered into the ground, and I will see him covered and resting there) as Mother handed her the shovel, and she added more dirt and handed the shovel to Eleonora. When Sandy had said her line and performed her role, more words were said as the gravedigger, a stocky man who looked like he would make short work of the mound of earth beside Father's grave, started to fill the rest in. When the ceremony was over, the casket was barely visible.

Emperor Edelgard invited them back inside, to a smaller reception room. Mother and Sandy were crying.

"Of course, it is difficult to properly memorialize a man such as our late Minister of Religion, Count Walter von Varley," the Emperor said when the family, the Cabinet and their families, and some people who Bernie didn't recognize, but who looked appropriately somber, were assembled. "In the last year, since the end of the War, he has done good, solid work for the renewed Adrestian Empire. He has helped us hold together our traditions in this time of radical change. At the same time, the Insurrection of the Seven left a deep impact on me and on all of Adrestia, and he leaves behind a complicated legacy. I am not certain whether the word 'redemption' is appropriate to use for one man's contribution to his country, but I do believe that, by the end, Count Varley was working to heal the harm done by the Insurrection and was giving Adrestia his full support as a member of the Imperial Cabinet."

Emperor Edelgard had had very few personal dealings with Father, and even fewer personal dealings with Bernie, so she was mostly able to tell the truth in her obituary. She continued for a couple more minutes, a respectable time for the Emperor to mourn one of her Ministers of the Cabinet, and then she sat and Mother stood to speak.

This was the wrenching part. Bernadetta sat as quietly as she could while relations she hadn't seen since her wedding and Ministers of the Imperial Cabinet who she didn't like praised Father's accomplishments and even his personality. Ferdinand kept an arm around her shoulders and she hid her face against him when she got too upset. Hearing Father spoken of in such a way felt like being poisoned, numbness and _wrongness_ spreading through her body until she was sure she would have to retire early and miss the reception later.

She probably would have. This part seemed to last hours, everybody needing to say their piece. When they were finally done, Bernadetta felt wrung out, exhausted.

Ferdinand tried to stand without her, then turned to kneel in front of her. "Come along to the carriage, my love," he said. "We can take the long way to Varley Manor; your family will understand."

"Lady Varley, may I offer you and your daughters a ride with me?" a deeper voice, Hubert's voice, said from somewhere to her right. "Ferdinand and Bernadetta are very contemplative, and often like to talk privately after public events."

It was decided very quickly that Mother, Ellie, and Sandy would go with Hubert, and Ferdie and Bernadetta would go on their own. As soon as they were alone together, Bernie tucked herself against Ferdinand's chest and said, "I hate him! I hate him, I hate him, I couldn't stand to hear people talking about him so kindly!"

"I know, my love," Ferdie told her, holding her snugly against him.

"He ruined everything forever! I am barely able to speak to people because of him!"

"I am indignant on your behalf," Ferdinand soothed.

"He is the reason! The reason I'm so fearful, so timid, so small!"

Ferdinand reached over to pull her closer with his other arm, as well, and agreed with her again.

Bernie sobbed loudly and angrily against him, and he didn't protest. He just spoke softly of how he agreed that her father was a terrible man who had hurt her irreparably, and how Bernadetta was right to be angry that nobody would publicly denounce him in life or death. Then he asked if he was still supposed to stay quiet for the sake of Bernie's sisters, since he would happily tell the other Ministers exactly why the late Count had been disallowed from their house.

Bernie shook her head. "Don't," she advised. "Nothing is fully set yet." And she took in a very shaky breath.

"Of course, Bernie. Of course. I am entirely at your command," Ferdie assured her. Then he lamented the other ministers' cowardice again.

They were taking the long way to Varley Manor, but it still wasn't far. It wasn't that long before Bernie had to dry her eyes, take some deep breaths, dry her eyes again, and step out of the carriage with Ferdinand.

The best thing about being a child of the deceased was: nobody asked why she had been crying. Obviously, she had been crying for love of her father, which was a good and natural reason to cry on his funeral day, and not for anger at the cowardice of his fellow ministers or the callousness of her mother.

She and Ferdinand entered a house that she hadn't seen since her wedding, but it looked much the same as she remembered. She tried to lead Ferdinand over to Mother so they could hover near their family, but she was interrupted by Mr. Bergliez and his sincere condolences and his hope that the memorial service had been some comfort.

"Everyone certainly said very kind things about him," Bernie said, which was the kind of lie she'd been learning to tell for the past several months. It wasn't untrue, technically, but it implied the opposite of her opinion.

"Of course," Mr. Bergliez said. "He was a good man, after all, a very good man. Truly tragic, and him not even sixty."

"It was very young," Bernie agreed. She wondered if Hubert's tests had actually come back clean, or if they had been doctored in some way. She wondered if he’d had her father killed in a way his tests wouldn’t catch. "I have heard heart trouble can strike at any age, but it is not usually deadly at his age." The doctor they'd discussed it with had said as much, and it seemed like an appropriately morbid way to shut the conversation down.

(Of course Mr. Bergliez had actually liked Father; they held the same miserable views. He had probably objected to his brother spending so much time with Miss Arnault and Mr. Ubert, too.)

She was trapped in dull, meaningless conversation with him until Hubert came up and said, "Lady Aegir? You look remarkably pale; are you well? Ferdinand, did she look that way this morning?"

Ferdinand peered down and said, "You do look a little peaked, darling. It has been a long day--"

"I was about to ask for a conversation, anyway, but perhaps we had best sit down first," Hubert interrupted, and Bernadetta understood that he was getting her out of that horrible conversation and wanted to talk alone.

"I will be alright," Bernie assured her husband, and gave him her hand to kiss. "I have barely eaten since breakfast; I will have some food and water and feel restored."

"There is a parlor right by the refreshments," Hubert pointed out. "My apologies, Mr. Bergliez, but I must see to my protégé. Ferdinand, you are holding up?"

"I am well," Ferdinand confirmed. "Perhaps I should check on the Varley ladies; they have not eaten any more than Bernadetta."

"Lady Aegir, come with me before you swoon," Hubert offered, and muttered "a very unhealthy color" under his breath, just like any of his fellow ministers would.

He loaded up a plate, passed a hand over it in a way that Bernie had come to understand meant he was testing for poison, and led her into a smaller, quieter, shadier room, then guided her to a chair and sat facing her.

"How are you really holding up?" her friend asked, and she started crying all over again.

Hubert reached forward to take her hand and held it in his two gloved ones. "I was much the same at my father's memorial," he admitted. "Not the crying -- between my father and my governess, that was beat out of me by the time I was ten -- but certainly the upset." He passed her a handkerchief and nudged the plate of food toward her. She hadn't noticed he'd put it on the end table next to her.

"Nobody will say he was terrible," Bernie said through her tears, hoping she was quiet.

"Then I will: he was terrible. He was a betrayal of everything a parent should be and I am glad he was not allowed in your house. And it is perfectly normal to be distraught at his passing, even feeling as you do."

"Then tell people," Bernie scolded. "Say it in public. Or are you a coward?" She could not bring herself to mince words while she felt so miserable.

"Not a coward," Hubert said. "Only, Miss Varley has not yet had her entitlement ceremony, and even that would not guarantee her the family holding. Your mother associates me with the push to make your sister the Minister of Religion and I will not make it my first act as one of her mentors to intentionally estrange her mother, who is also the current Countess Varley. I am sure, at this moment, that sounds like a lot of pretty words to excuse the inexcusable."

Bernie nodded and dabbed angrily at her eyes with Hubert's handkerchief.

"Well, I resist the urge to punch Hevring and Bergliez every day during Cabinet meetings and I do not intend to lose my temper any time soon." He squeezed her hand a bit. "I have always admired your powerful emotions, Bernadetta, but this is not the time to be ruled by them. This is the time to be shrewd and wait for the danger to pass. I will not deny you your honest grieving for a bad man, but I will not deny your sister everything she is due, either."

"Why can't I just be glad he died?" Bernie asked. Ferdinand was so sympathetic, he offered sanitized answers like 'he was your father,' as if Bernadetta didn't already know.

"Oh, flames, you're just me if I had been kicked around a bit more, aren't you?" Hubert asked. "This is so uncomfortable; it's like watching myself six years ago. The only advice I can give is: your ability to love him after everything he did speaks well of you, and says nothing of him. There are loose ends in your feelings about him that will never be tied up, but some of them would not have been if he had lived to a hundred. And, when you come out of deep mourning, your office will be waiting for you and we will be glad to have you back."

"Oh, I was going to ask," Bernie said, dabbing at her eyes again. "Who is the favorite cipherer the Emperor mentioned earlier? She said they were gone, but I have forgotten any holidays being taken…"

"Oh, saints and stones, we're all three of us idiots, aren't we?" Hubert asked. "Ferdinand can't see past his own nose, you can't take a compliment, and I can't give a compliment. El was referring to you about as obviously as possible. Sorry, should she have winked? Should I, perhaps, have mentioned it when I went to your house when I had barely finished my dinner to ensure your family's smooth transition into Enbarr society? Perhaps, when I gave you that potion months ago to aid your recovery, I should have said, oh, by the way, I like you a great deal and you excel at your work, rather than letting the fact that I'd stayed up half the night brewing you a remedy and then lost my head out of fear for you speak for itself. Do you really feel I have treated you as nothing more than a colleague?"

Hubert wore an expression of bitterness, even disgust, when he finally finished speaking, and he clutched his arms close to himself.

The important thing to know about Hubert was that he hated anybody knowing how much he cared about people, and that went double if you were the object of his feelings. His vitriol was not over Bernadetta's mistake, even though she would have thought it was until very recently. He was, instead, embarrassed that Bernie had noticed his feelings and reacting defensively.

"I am very flattered," Bernie told him. "I am sure that title would not be given to just anybody."

"It wouldn't," Hubert admitted, still looking ornery. "You are exceptional as well as kind, and I respect you. You don't deserve this sham memorial for the man who terrorized you, but here we are. Eat so I can say I'm looking after you."

Bernie smiled so she wouldn't laugh. Hubert's kindness was given with such a grudging, disdainful expression that, if it were anyone else, she would have thought he didn't like her at all. But she knew Hubert well enough at this point, and had seen him worry over the Emperor's health with much the same attitude, so it didn't bother her much.

"You should join me," she told him. "Ferdinand made sure there would be appetizing food, but I have been… My appetite has been bad." She popped a cracker with cheese into her mouth.

"I won't tell him," Hubert told her, and pulled off a glove to nab one of the two crab cakes he'd put on her plate. "Both of us went through it with our own fathers. If he's fretting over you, it's because he wishes someone had done the same for him." He swallowed and looked very satisfied, so Bernie took the other one. "I'm no good at fretting over people, so you'll just have to deal with me treating you the way Ferdinand treats me when he's certain I'm working myself to death, only much more clumsily."

Bernie smiled. Hubert was finally acting personable again. "I think I can forgive any clumsiness," she teased. "After all, you have so little practice. How are things with Laura?"

"Very nice," Hubert admitted. "Very smooth. I am slowly learning the art of courting, and she is proving an excellent conversationalist. Even my aunts seem to be satisfied, though they've threatened to visit if we get engaged to help plan the wedding, so who knows? She may just turn tail and run."

"Your aunts care about you a great deal," Bernie scolded. "It speaks very well of you that your family is so eager to help you, and Laura will see that. Tell me more about how you're thinking of getting engaged."

"Ah-- not at the moment," Hubert said, and such clumsy backpedaling gave Bernie a glimpse of why her friend was so endeared to him. "Yanni, especially, would be happiest if I proposed tomorrow, but it's only been a few weeks and there are… complications… she needs to know about before we make any commitments."

"Ferdinand?" Bernie guessed.

"Among other things. Most of what my aunts know about my job is that their sister married a man who never had time for her and whose name was whispered every time someone died or was jailed unexpectedly. Now, they are determined to ensure that whatever poor young woman marries me, I make more time for her and don't get so embroiled in what they see as scandal." He rolled his eyes. "The attractive thing about Laura, of course, is that she has always been uninterested in a husband, but interested in children, and I will be glad to perform my role and otherwise leave her alone."

"You have already discussed such intimate topics?" Bernie asked. Sure, Laura's stories were often centered around intimacy and pregnancy and children, but how much could actually be inferred from that?

"Er-- not yet, of course," Hubert said, backtracking for the second time in as many minutes. "But the Ballysnatch and the Radalor seemed obvious enough metaphors. Also, the way death-torture was portrayed in her story universe made it very clear what she considers to be intolerable."

Bernie tended to glance over some of the more upsetting parts of her friend's work. It was very good, but in small doses and only when the right mood struck. The sections she had read were exceptional, but she was not the audience for such work. "I am afraid I often stop reading when the monsters get too frightening," she admitted. "Such things are often on women's minds, so I do not think you will know for certain unless you ask her."

Hubert frowned and picked up a tartlet with glazed carrots and walnuts.

"I certainly see how such themes could recur regardless of her personal feelings," he conceded, "but the narrative always seems to view physical intimacy as something repulsive and unnatural, and as a type of domination. If it were one story, it would be an interesting perspective; as a selection of stories, it is quite telling. How are you feeling? You still look a bit pale, but that could just be because you've been crying."

"Oh, fine," Bernie said. "I felt fine earlier, but I was grateful for an excuse to leave. I have only read Laura's less frightening work, so I can offer very little insight on her usual themes. I would still recommend you ask her, regardless; it is important to know going into a marriage, so you are not simply relying on luck." She was one to talk. But her compatibility with Ferdinand really was luck, and Hubert had the opportunity to discuss things beforehand.

Hubert took a canapé from her plate, then jumped like a horse seeing a snake and dropped it with a brief clatter against the porcelain.

"What happened?" Bernie asked immediately, her back straightening and shoulders going tense. She looked around, but they were still alone. Was there an eavesdropper she hadn't noticed?

"Um. My apologies," Hubert said, and pulled his glove out of the pocket he'd tucked it into. "I… forgot you were unfamiliar with my hands."

"What about them?" Bernie asked. They were just hands. She glanced at the visible one, but there was nothing unusual about it.

"I will not ask you to look at it any longer. I apologize if it upset you." He tugged on the wrist of his glove and it was back in place.

He must have been referring to the color. "Anybody upset by them must have been entirely out of the way during the War," Bernie pointed out. "I have only limited abilities, so I only helped organize healing efforts, but half the people I saw must have had magic scars. Is that not the point of gloves? I am always getting inks and paints all over my hands, but why should anybody have to know?" She'd tried dying her own embroidery silks once, and her hands looked disastrous for over a week. Her yellow kid gloves had never let her down, though.

"I suppose," Hubert conceded. "People… get strange about them."

"People get strange about a lot of things," Bernie reminded him. "We were discussing false positives in interrogation just last week. Please keep eating with me." She selected a sandwich cookie with a cutout heart and what looked like apricot jam in the middle.

"That is certainly true. Bernadetta, I… There is something I would like to say that would be entirely inappropriate right now. Are you receiving letters?"

She nodded. "Ferdinand is responding to the condolences. But, if it was from you, it would reach me." She couldn't imagine what he would be unable to say in a more or less secure room, or through a code or cipher, but she would learn soon enough.

Hubert nodded. "I am going to write you a letter," he said slowly, not looking at her, "and I want to be particularly clear that it is okay for Ferdinand to read it. If you would like him to. Or for you to read it and discuss it with me independently. Or for you to throw it in the fire, never to be spoken of again."

"A love letter?" Bernie asked, just on a hunch.

Hubert nodded.

She wanted to protest. Not because she objected -- Hubert was attractive in a way she'd come to appreciate, and he'd gotten closer and closer to her family, and it wasn't inappropriate to raise such a topic at a funeral for someone the surviving family member hated -- but because it was impossible that Hubert had come to be in love with her. He believed her to be nothing special, physically, and she was always asking questions at work to clarify when she hit even a small snag, and she'd gotten so much more outspoken recently--

"If you do not want me to send such a letter, I can do that, too," Hubert told her. "But I do often get a false positive from you because of your overthinking. Would you allow me to send such a letter?"

Bernie nodded.

"Then you will receive it in short order," Hubert told her, which was almost hilariously formal language for such a strange agreement.

She wanted to say more, but the more they discussed it, the likelier it was they would get caught. Better to take another bite of her cookie and continue to brace herself against the difficulty of the rest of the reception.

"Am I being a bad daughter?" Bernadetta asked her friend. "Not to my father. To my mother, who I am sure is fielding everybody's questions."

"Let her," Hubert suggested. "I chose long ago not to feel sympathy or pity for the people who hurt my friends. You deserve to rest as much as you need."

"Big words from a man who has not slept in a year," Bernie teased.

"I am very good at giving advice I am unwilling to follow," Hubert told her, smirking. "Most people are. But, since your usual mode of recovery is to retreat to your room and rest, I will still recommend it. Let your mother be the public face of grieving for your father; she plays the role very well."

"I think they loved each other," she told him. He, of all people, would understand that an affair, even a secret one, didn't necessarily mean there was a lack of love. "I think he loved me, and maybe I loved him, too. I think… I think, when it comes down to it, love doesn't matter at all. It's… messy, and ill-defined, and easy to feel. But it doesn't stop you from tying your daughter to a chair."

"I think my father loved me, too, if we're being honest," Hubert admitted. "Even with everything he did to me. I agree: it's… not useless. There's something it does. But I would certainly take the two of us as proof that something else is needed."

Bernadetta thought that over. "Ferdinand might be… needy, the next few times you see him," she warned Hubert. "He asked me if I love him, and… I just can't see how that matters. Because I do, of course I do; I'm not sure you could live with someone so long and not love them. But can something that doesn't change a person's actions really be said to exist? I would rather have any amount of affection or protection than the love my father gave me. I know what those do. What does love do if it didn't protect me? What worth does it have?"

Some people walked into the room, talking quietly in somber tones. Bernie turned to see and it was the Count and Countess von Hevring. It was a shame; even though it was mostly just nodding along, Hubert seemed to understand what she was saying, and even agree.

"Count and Countess Hevring," Hubert greeted, and stood up. "How are you doing?"

"Well, thank you," Lady Hevring said. "As well as can be expected. How are you?"

"Much the same, but I'm afraid Lady Aegir has had quite a taxing day and would prefer a few minutes of quiet."

"Of course," Lady Hevring said, but then circled around to Bernadetta and put a hand on her shoulder while she said, "Of course it has been hardest on his family. You have always been such a sweet girl."

Bernadetta stuttered her way through a thank you while Count Hevring did much the same thing, and then cursorily thanked him, as well. At least they left then.

"Are you alright?" Hubert asked as he took his seat next to her again, and Bernie started crying even though they were in a room with an open archway and not in a closed room or a carriage.

"I will talk to Ferdinand. Everyone knows you have a habit of leaving parties early; it will be no surprise." He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, and then got up.

She had almost gotten herself under control when Ferdinand came to her little corner and knelt in front of her. "Is it time to head home?" he asked as he pushed her bangs out of her face. Bernie nodded. "Then let us go. You have done as much as can be expected. You only had to make an appearance here. I will help you excuse yourself, and then we can go home and I will send the carriage back to wait."

She spoke to more people as Ferdinand excused them from the party than she had the rest of the time she'd been there. Mother gave her a very severe look when Ferdinand explained their plans, but couldn't make a scene. Bernie walked through the half-familiar house like she was in a dream. She almost couldn't believe the day was over, or that she'd gotten through it without any public incidents.

On the short ride home, she leaned silently against Ferdinand's chest while tears she somehow hadn't shed yet leaked from her eyes. Ferdie asked her in a soft voice if she'd eaten enough and whether she wanted to go straight to bed and if a little cake wouldn't be tempting. She felt indifferent. She was so tired, and now that she knew she was tired, she felt it.

Ferdinand helped her, yet again, with her dress and her petticoat and everything that needed to come off her body before she could get into bed. Her hands were slow and clumsy. It was like she'd passed her bedtime and would remain half-asleep until she'd slept.

Ferdinand arranged the covers around her and kissed her on the head, then the lamp went out, the door opened and shut, and she was alone in the dark. The sun had set, but the faintest bit of light still peeked over the horizon. It was something nice to look at while Bernie fell asleep.

.-._.-._.-._

In an envelope labeled _Duchess Bernadetta von Aegir,_ delivered to Aegir House the next morning:

_My dear Bernadetta,_

_I must admit, it caused me no small amount of alarm and amusement when I realized I had fallen for you. I had expected my infatuation with Ferdinand to be the beginning and end of my troublesome romantic entanglements, but you have a way of winning people over, my dear, which is unmatched by anyone. Your beauty is woven into your every movement: a half-glance when you are unable to turn around makes the light catch on your dark lashes and pale cheek, allowing your husband to kiss your hand displays a casual intimacy that I can only dream of, and my heart feels pulled to yours._

_Perhaps what I admire most about you is that you possess a strength greater than I ever will. My Lady, in Her quest to free Adrestia from the Church's dominion, did not possess the strength of will that you showed when you attended a full day of memorial services for your father. The lessons my father ensured I learned, the Vestra skills that I teach to my field agents and interrogators, are not the mark of one with a strong will. I did not excel in my lessons because I had strength; I excelled because, in my weakness, it seemed the only way to proceed. When you were faced with the same challenge, to submit to your parents' dehumanisation or suffer, you chose to suffer. I know it did not feel like a choice, and I do not believe it is a choice anybody should be forced to make, but I still admire that you clung to your humanity, your own will, when it never even crossed my mind to do the same._

_We discussed love tonight: its impotence, its ineffectiveness. I will not bore or insult you by claiming to love you when, like you, that is not what informs my actions. I feel an immense fondness for you, Bernadetta. When I think of you, I feel a compulsion to protect you, even knowing that you have always been more than capable of protecting the most important parts of yourself._

_I do not wish this bid for your affection to be taken out of context. If you reject it, you will never hear of it again. You will not catch even the suggestion of it in our dealings at work. The last thing I want to do is pressure you into an intimate relationship with your supervisor. I am appealing to you not as the head of your Ministry, but as your husband's peer, and therefore, as your peer. If you do not feel that this could be a relationship of mutual respect and admiration, then please reject me; I would never consent to harm you in that way._

_My Bernie, your delicacy draws me toward you irresistibly. Ferdinand told me once that he is a great appreciator of elegance, and when I think of you, and of the years he spent cultivating his appreciation of you, it is exceedingly easy to see why. My appreciation of your physical beauty, immense as it is, is nothing compared to my appreciation of your powerful force of will. Please allow me to express my feelings in person once your life becomes less overwhelming._

_Yours,_

_Hubert von Vestra_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter, get ready for Hubert and Bernadetta to talk about successorship, and also a special guest!!!


	19. True Journey is Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert tells Bernadetta how important she is at work. Linhardt and Caspar come home. Ferdinand and Bernadetta extend a dinner invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This chapter is a little short (especially after last week, but also in general) but it sets up plenty of plot threads. :) I hope you enjoy it! Have an extra chapter for Fernadetta Week Day 5: Sharing and Music. (The specific music is a half-secret rn, though. Guess you'll have to either wait a bit or listen to "Letters" from Great Comet of 1812 to know what's up...)
> 
> I named the capital of Almyra Palomir, from the same root word Almyra comes from. I'll remind you when it becomes relevant again.
> 
> Remember Laura? She's come up once or twice. She's Bernie's friend from the writers' salon. She writes cool horror stories. She'll be a major character next chapter, so I want to be sure you know who Ferdinand and Bernadetta are inviting over.

Bernadetta came out of deep mourning slowly, which Hubert hadn't expected. Wyvern Moon was full of title-related ceremonies: Miss Varley was entitled as Minister of Religion, that Gilford git was entitled as Gilford von Hevring and returned to the country to continue managing the land, and while the Almyran wyvern-breeding crisis exploded (as the story broke that some of the illicit breeders had secret government contracts), Bernadetta was only working half-days.

Hubert didn't blame her, of course. She was as active as she could reasonably be. If Hubert had had to live with his father down the street, he would long ago have worked himself into the ground and the resulting lethargy would have been the same. At least Bernie allowed him to kiss her hand at their lunches, now. That was very, very nice.

Hubert couldn't stop thinking about Bernie's question about his favorite cipherer at her father's memorial reception. He couldn't stop thinking of how she seemed to assume that her half-presence was no burden for the Ministry, that it wasn't hard to struggle along without her. With that in mind, and with so many entitlements in the air, Hubert gave her a proposition.

"Do you ever think about the future of the Ministry of the Imperial Household?" he asked about a week before the formal mourning period was over.

Bernadetta looked up from the new cipher he'd set her, a particularly troublesome one he, himself, hadn't learned until he was sixteen. "How far in the future?" she asked.

"The line of succession," Hubert clarified. "Who takes over if I am unable to work."

"Oh, so Stacey," Bernie clarified, which was patently wrong.

"Why do you assume it would be Stacey?" Hubert asked. She did have some seniority, but she was good at individual skills, ciphering and interrogation without a real understanding of the way the web of interwoven issues came together.

"Not Stacey? Then… Johann, I suppose? He has a very good head on his shoulders, and he cares," Hubert's favorite told him, and he knew she didn't mean anything by it, but he certainly felt like a bad mentor for allowing her to think she was anything but the front-runner.

Well, he was fixing that now. "Bernadetta, my successor would be you."

She had the gall to laugh.

"Oh, that was a very good one, Hubert. I do greatly enjoy flattery." She kept smiling and working the cipher.

"I'm serious. I would like you to take over from me if the need arises. And I was thinking, with all these entitlements happening, it might be a good time to make it official."

Bernadetta looked up, finally, gauging Hubert's expression. "You can't think I'm more competent than-- well, than anyone else here," she said, like it was obvious.

"I do, though," Hubert told her.

"I've been working half-days. I'm unreliable."

"You've been grieving." Hubert had worked so hard and slept so little after his father's death that no less than Emperor Edelgard had had to command him to rest. Grieving was not unique to her.

"We're involved, now. It's nepotism."

"It isn't nepotism when you're the only person here who can strategize the way this Ministry needs."

She frowned at him for several long moments, then sighed heavily and went back to her ciphering.

It was a waiting game, then. Hubert went back to his own task, half focused on the letter he was writing and half waiting for Bernadetta to speak again.

"I'm not ready," Bernadetta said at last, after no less than four minutes. "I can barely resist soft interrogation, and we haven't even talked about hard interrogation. I can't manage people. I can't even do magic, beyond a little faith trick here and there."

"Nobody here is ready. Out of all of them, you are the most prepared and capable. And other people know the spells." Not every spell, of course. Some, ancient Vestra spells that Hubert knew he was holding too close to his chest, were safely locked in the safe his successor would need to access. "And you  _ do _ manage people; we are well past the point of wondering if you have the capability. You have high-level agents who report directly to you."

"You've had people here for a year, but I'm the one who's ready?" Bernie asked.

Hubert sighed. If only it were so difficult to convince her of her negative qualities, as well. "Of those who've been here over year, that includes Stacey, who barely understands the shape of West Adrestia, much less all Fódlan; Weston, whose loyalty I've recently begun to doubt; and Anel, who is more or less at capacity for the amount of work he can do just working on ciphers and such. You've had several months here and it's clear how you're growing in this role. I trust you as a strategist. How can I make you feel that your abilities are recognized and acknowledged?"

“It’s too much,” Bernie insisted. “I can’t let you do this.”

“What, exactly, is it that you can’t let me do?” Hubert clarified. “Assign a competent successor? It isn’t even an heirship; that would be all sorts of complicated. It is a job, and it needs to be done with or without me.”

Bernadetta was frowning, and she was glaring at him. As much as Hubert wished the conversation could end, he always got a small thrill when he saw her assert herself. “Let you assign  _ me,” _ she argued. “It is a very inappropriate courting gift and I cannot accept it.” She squared her shoulders, as if to show she was serious.

It was Hubert’s turn to laugh inappropriately. He wished, not nearly for the first time, that he could tell her that his real gift to her was freedom from her father. “Ah, yes, a fine gift indeed,” he snarked. “Having to watch what you say around everyone you know, having to take responsibility for imprisonment and interrogation, having to engineer assassinations, though hopefully we really are in a new era of peace and very few assassinations will be necessary.” He softened his voice and assured her, “I would not wish this job on anyone, but it needs to be done, and it needs to be done by someone competent. My affection for you is not greater than my dedication to Adrestia.” He couldn’t pretend, by any stretch of the imagination, that he’d managed to keep his work and his personal life separate, but he did think he’d held onto his good judgment.

“It  _ is  _ a gift,” Bernadetta argued. “A gift of power. You killed your own father for it. But I have never been ambitious.”

“I killed my father for betraying House Hresvelg and aiding and abetting the torture of children,” Hubert corrected her. “I inherited his position because I already had my own network and the Emperor trusted me to do it. You have started managing your own agents, who write to you personally. Does anybody else here have that? Stacey does field work occasionally, and has her own name for sending reports, but you  _ manage  _ agents. You started here months ago, and yet you designed half our Liecester strategy. You are the one who helped me turn it from a general direction into a clear set of goals. If everything falls apart and something happens to me, you are the one I want organizing the chaos.” He hoped she believed him. It could be very difficult to convince her of her own worth.

Bernie went back to her ciphering. She often withdrew from conversations with no warning when she needed to think things through. Hubert worked on his letter to von Riegan that he would review with Edelgard later.

“If you are absolutely certain it is the rational decision, then it should be a public ceremony,” she said at last. “Before or after you go to Almyra?”

“Excuse me?” Hubert had been trying to think of a way  _ not  _ to go to Almyra, but he hadn’t mentioned the necessity of it to anyone but Edelgard; Bernadetta couldn’t have heard it from Ferdinand.

“You must have a diplomatic plan,” she insisted. “Count Bergliez will have to go, too, and maybe Ferdie, but hopefully not.”

“We are only beginning discussions in the Cabinet,” Hubert said. “That was all conjecture.”

“Yes, but it’s somewhat inevitable,” Bernie pointed out, smiling calmly. “And just think: you could whisk Ferdinand away on a romantic mountain vacation. How many days to Palomir, again?”

“Four,” Hubert said. How long had it been since he’d had a conversation that he wasn’t indisputably in control of? Bernadetta always managed to surprise him. "Less by sea or air, more in winter."

“If the time comes that you are preparing to leave for Almyra with him, or if you get to run off with him for any reason, you will send him the letter I am about to write you, in your own hand, with your own seal, and you will not change the wording a bit,” Bernie instructed, and turned to a new leaf in her notebook.

Hubert smiled and returned to his own letter. Ferdinand often gave him advice for courting Bernie, but this was the first time Bernadetta had given him advice for courting Ferdie.

At last, she tore out the page and slid it toward him. Hubert read the letter and stared at his protege. “You aren’t serious.”

“It is straight out of our favorite opera,” Bernie told him smugly. “If you miss your opportunity, I will be very disappointed.”

“It is insipid,” Hubert protested. “Steal him out of the dark? What, of his ancestral city home? And what is this repetition?”

“It is a paraphrasing of a love letter,” Bernadetta told him, and sang the few lines she’d written for him. Her sweet voice was ill-suited to the style of the music, and left Hubert almost as confused as before. “The man who sings it is asking the heroine to elope with him, so Ferdinand should understand what you mean.”

Hubert snorted. “Yes, how romantic, in comparison, to ask him to come with me to Almyra to sort out some international agreements.”

Bernadetta giggled. “Much kinder than eloping while already married and taking a young lady’s honor and prospects in the process,” she pointed out.

Ah, right. Because it was an opera.

“I suppose I have no other choice, then,” Hubert conceded, and folded the letter and tucked it into the pocket of his personal notebook. It was an unbelievably silly and frivolous letter, but if Bernadetta said it was the thing to write, he had no choice but to believe her.

.-._.-._.-._

In the third week of Wyvern Moon, Linhardt and Caspar came home.

There was no announcement. They didn't write a letter saying, "Prepare that reception you offered." The Hevring heirship had been changed seven days prior and the couple arrived at the Palace and made a scene with the guards.

Hubert was lucky enough to intercept them in time to keep them from causing any real trouble. Caspar's hugs were still comparable to a battering ram, and Linhardt was still repelled by anyone touching them besides Caspar. That really was unfortunate for Linhardt, though, because as glad as Hubert was to have both of them back, it was Linhardt he'd been worried about.

Which was how Hubert had ended up dining in Edelgard's suite with all of the original Black Eagles (except Dorothea and Petra, of course) and Bernadetta.

He, Ferdinand, and Edelgard had all had the same idea of pulling out some very nice wine for the occasion, so there was a lot available. The first three bottles were set on the table, and the first to be emptied was some sparkling white wine from Mateus that they used for a round of toasts while the servants left and the attendees passed hors d'euvres around.

"To our good friends returning," Edelgard said, raising her glass, as Hubert and Linhardt slid stuffed mushrooms onto their plates. There was some little toast-based nonsense at the other end of the table that Hubert also had his eye on. "To a month where we are  _ all _ moving forward, and to our ever-stabilizing Adrestian Empire." El drank and the rest of them followed. It was the shortest toast Hubert had heard her give in months.

Ferdinand stood, then, ignoring the toast-cheese-whatever creation Bernadetta had just passed his way, and said, "I had not dared to expect Caspar and Linhardt to come home so soon. I hope you will both find Enbarr to be a true home for you, full of good friends and comfort. If you ever find yourselves needing to roam again, I hope you know you will always have a place here, and you will always have a place with us. I know that I have been more hesitant to say this than Hubert, but you have been sorely missed, both of you." He raised his glass. "To Caspar and Linhardt's return!"

Everybody drank.

Hubert figured he should say something, but he had no idea what he could say that wouldn't be completely embarrassing. He stood and said, "You are both my dear friends. I'm a better man today because of the people I met at Garreg Mach and the relationships I built during the War. Caspar's dedication and enthusiasm and Linhardt's unwavering, if sometimes grudging, compassion helped to shape me at a time when I thought that being the oldest of us meant I was somehow done growing, or better than the rest of you even though we were peers. Like Ferdinand, it's hard to say how glad I am that you've both returned safely to Enbarr." Was that embarrassing? It was probably too honest. He drank to stop himself from saying even more, and everyone drank with him.

"I really can't say how sweet you all are," Caspar said as Hubert cut into a mushroom and Bernie asked her husband to pass the salt. His voice had mellowed from its slight huskiness years ago to a more even almost-baritone timbre. It suited him. "It's weird to think it's only been a year and a half. Lin and I are really lucky to have such good friends, and, uh, I guess I won't keep everyone from their dinner any longer, but it feels really amazing to come to the Royal Palace in Enbarr and be treated this way. It really makes me feel special, and I'm sure Linhardt feels the same way." He sat without drinking, so nobody drank to his toast. The crostini finally made their way to Hubert, and he put two on his plate and passed the dish.

Linhardt sighed their most put-upon sigh (after taking three of the canapés, which Hubert felt justified his own feelings of urgency) and said, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm giving announcements. It's nice to be here and all, but more urgently: before we all start talking, I need you all to know that I'm not a man, yes I am still called Linhardt, no I won't be mad if you call me 'he' but I do greatly prefer 'they,' and if any of you call me 'sir' or 'mister,' I'm taking a plate and going back to my room."

They'd told Hubert hours ago, and he'd told Edelgard, but it was good to know they were comfortable enough to assert themself, even when slightly estranged and with Bernadetta present.

"Oh, and I guess, let's drink to the good fortune of Cas and me coming home and managing to not see either of our parents on the first day." They took a much larger swig of wine than was strictly necessary. Everybody else drank with them.

The party went… smoothly. It felt a little unfamiliar to have a party that worked because everyone liked each other, and not because the seating chart had been artfully and deliberately designed to achieve certain outcomes. Hubert had forgotten how easy it was to just… get along. Currently, Caspar was telling Edelgard about some bandits he'd fought and Linhardt and Bernadetta were discussing sewing, or something. Ferdinand nudged his elbow and asked, "Well? Is it as good of a reunion as you hoped?" and Hubert nodded. Smiled, even.

"They are truly themselves," he acknowledged. They were his friends, and they were safe now.

When dessert came around and everybody was at least a little drunk on incredibly good wine, Linhardt stood up again and said, "I have a second announcement." They were grinning like there was some very good joke to be had. They started rifling around in the pocket of their robe. "Because, you see, as I've mentioned before, Hubert offered me the Royal Physician job on no less than four occasions." They pulled some folded papers out of their pocket that looked like… They looked like Hubert's stationery. "So I thought I might embarrass him with some of the other things he said, because I don't know if all of you know what a sap he is and that definitely needs to be fixed."

Hubert didn't remember making the decision to intercept the letters. He only vaguely remembered getting out of his chair. He did remember the tangle of wooden and human legs that landed him and Linhardt both on the ground.

He and Linhardt started laughing at the same time, at least. "That was so stupid," Linhardt told him, still cackling. "Okay, okay, I won't. You never had common sense, did you?"

"None," Hubert lied, just because it sounded like a funny thing to say. "But, if you misuse those letters, I'm taking them back." He pushed the chair aside, but made no move to stand up. "You know I have ways."

Caspar took hold of Linhardt under both armpits then, and hauled them to their feet. Someone (who could only be Ferdinand) did the same to Hubert. "I think we've found our lightweights," Ferdinand declared from behind Hubert's shoulder. He herded Hubert back to his seat and nudged his parfait toward him, then topped off his water glass. The implication was clear.

"Goddess, do you remember when you used to eat poisons and fall down in the halls?" Linhardt asked. "At least you chose a fun poison this time."

"Sorry you don't get the distinction of carrying me to the infirmary this time," Hubert shot back. Then they both started laughing again.

Edelgard whispered something to Bernadetta, but Hubert had the misfortune of being all the way across the table, so he missed whatever joke they shared. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen them together outside of public events, though, so it seemed like a good sign.

At long last, after at least two hours of after-dinner conversation that left Hubert paranoid that Linhardt would show El the letters, anyway, the lot of them decided to split up and go to bed. Hubert walked with Ferdinand and Bernadetta to the front drive, wondering how he fit in with the two of them. How often were all three of them alone together?  _ Was _ he the sort of human accessory Dorothea had warned him about, to be toyed with but never taken seriously? His relationship with Bernadetta hadn't even progressed to the point of a kiss on the lips.

"Would you like to come home with me?" he blurted out without a care for what Ferdinand and Bernadetta were discussing. "I just… I know your house is crowded, and Lady Varley has suspicions about me, so… I thought I should be the one to make the offer." How did his face feel numb and hot at the same time?

Ferdinand's steady arm settled around his waist. "You need to get to bed, my moon," he said. "Anyway, Lady Varley will be out of our house within the week, and then we will all have more options." He pressed his lips delicately to Hubert's shoulder.

He just wanted to know he was more than a dalliance to them. That he was worthy of conversation even when they were alone. As Linhardt had pointed out, Hubert was… clingy. He didn't form attachments easily, and once he did, it was near impossible to shake them. Ferdinand was very inclined to like people, and these days his affection for Hubert ran deep, but what about Bernadetta? And what if they decided they just didn't care whether Hubert was there or not? He thought indifference might be worse than if they decided they didn't want him around.

"There's something on your mind," Bernie noted. She took his hand as they kept walking.

"It's nothing," Hubert said. Ferdinand was right: he should go home and sleep off the wine. It was the best decision. He was only having these doubts because he was drunk and socially exhausted.

"This area is all offices, right?" Bernadetta asked. "Not living quarters?"

"Interior Affairs and Education, I think," Ferdinand confirmed.

"Then stop a moment?" Bernie requested, putting a hand on Hubert's shoulder in case he didn't listen to her words. She moved her hand to the top of his shoulder and leaned up, her other hand cupping his cheek, so Hubert leaned down to meet her.

Slowly, deliberately, Bernadetta kissed his forehead, his cheek, and then, achingly slowly but incredibly gently, his lips. She tasted like sweet white wine. She hugged Hubert around the outside of his arms and said, "It will be delightful when we manage it." Then she took his hand again, as if to keep walking.

Hubert glanced at Ferdinand, not sure if Bernie had learned to read minds or if she was just doing what she wanted to. Ferdinand looked adorably flummoxed. Did he know that was a more intimate kiss than Hubert and Bernadetta had shared yet? Even if he didn't, he still looked happy to see the display.

Before they entered the front hall, where there would be servants to see them, Ferdinand stopped them all again just to kiss Hubert. The way he pressed their bodies together was unmistakable. "Until we have the chance," he said, and kissed Hubert's neck through his high collar. An affectionate glance and a hand caressing his hair, and then the three of them walked as friends into the front of the Palace.

The ride home was… perplexing. Both of his lovers had stolen kisses from him in front of each other.  _ Bernadetta _ had kissed him. Her lips were soft. Her body was soft. The hand that Hubert had only been allowed to kiss had cupped his cheek. And Ferdinand had still wanted to kiss him afterward. It was so many feelings to have while his mind would barely focus.

Once he was in his suite, Hubert drank two large glasses of water, threw all of his clothes on the floor, and hauled the covers over himself before passing out.

.-._.-._.-._

The morning after Linhardt and Caspar came, after the big party, Bernadetta splayed her arms out on the bed after Ferdinand got up to wash his face. "What if we had Hubert over this weekend?" she asked as she considered the possibility. He'd seemed upset last night, but only after they left the party, when it was just the three of them. "After my family has left? And maybe Laura; I don't see how their relationship can progress much farther if he keeps her in the dark…"

"Could be nice," Ferdie agreed. "I could ask him at tea, or you can ask him at work."

"I'll ask," Bernie promised. "What if… if Laura is alright… What if we had Hubert over for the night? ...With us?" It would be a big step. It might even be too big a step; perhaps Hubert would want to share a bed with them separately before all three of them slept together. It would be impossible to know his intentions without asking, though.

"We… have not discussed the opposite possibility," Ferdinand pointed out. Bernie raised her head, as if a better view of the back of Ferdinand's head would give her any insight. Goodness, she loved the length of his hair, but it looked so dull with all those split ends… "What do you plan to do if your friend decides she would like to have her husband all to herself and Hubert decides to prioritize her? That is a possibility, even if it is one we would not prefer." He began brushing lathered shaving soap onto his face.

"Then he goes, and we were lucky to have him for this time," Bernie admitted. "I will be alright. He wrote some beautiful things to me, but you were more attached." It was a risk. Most things worth having were worth some risk. Laura was her friend before she was Hubert's sweetheart, but Bernie was the one risking her friendship. "He predicts she will be alright."

"I hope she is," Ferdinand admitted. "Or even enjoys the arrangement. But Vestra needs a marquesa, and Hubert knows it better than we do."

When Bernie finally dragged herself out of bed, it was with a plan in place with Ferdinand: Bernie would invite Hubert and ask him to invite Laura, Ferdinand would tell the cook if the invitation was accepted, and they would enjoy their Saturday evening no matter what happened.

She no longer began Thursdays in Hubert's office, though. There was a new trainee who needed his attention more. She only managed to get alone with him late in the morning, when they reviewed her work so far.

"The first order of business is an invitation," she said before presenting any of her work concerning Liecester. "Ferdie and I were wondering if you and Laura would like to have dinner at Aegir House on Saturday. We haven't been very gracious hosts, with my family and mourning customs and everything."

"There was no need to be good hosts," Hubert said in a way she'd come to interpret as gentle. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I will ask Laura."

"We wondered… if you would like to stay the night," Bernie added. "I know it would be a big step. And, of course, we understand your plans can change completely depending on Laura. But… If you would like…"

"I would," Hubert reassured her. "Her aunt's house is not far from yours; I could even take her home and return."

"What should we expect if she rejects the idea?" It was a necessary question. Somebody had to ask it. Somebody had to ensure Hubert asked it to himself.

Hubert sighed in frustration and said, "I will think on it. But I know you would not be able to expect me to stay the night."

"Of course, it would be a time to examine and evaluate your own feelings," Bernie conceded. "Still, I will look forward to having you over."

"And you're certain?" Hubert confirmed. "I know you're better about stating your opinions than you were, but if you feel at all like you're going along with what Ferdinand and I want…"

Bernie smiled. "I am as excited as anyone," she reassured her soon-to-be lover. She put her papers down on Hubert's desk so he couldn't question her truthful answer and make her doubt herself. "With that settled, everything seems to be going smoothly. I thought I might write back to the Horse, just to ensure the irregularities in their letters aren't a signal that something else is going wrong. The Bluebird seems to be making good progress in Edmund, with the succession situation there."

"I thought Hilda's letter to Edelgard two weeks ago said Marianne's parents had already come around," Hubert pointed out.

"She likes to sound very confident," Bernie pointed out. "There is plenty of time to sort this out, so it isn't very worrying to me. Most of the rest is business as usual."

They quickly reviewed the rest of the letters, and Hubert made suggestions for Bernie's letter to the Horse, and then Bernadetta went to the other side of the desk to sit down.

"I was wondering," she said, though even suggesting it made her body tense all over. "We… have discussed soft interrogation extensively, for months. I'm getting alright at resisting it, even though I know I started out worse than your other assistants." It had even helped her socially. They had looked at the actual meat of questions and arguments, and Bernadetta had started responding more to what was said and less to what she thought was implied. "I was wondering when we would start on techniques for resisting hard interrogation." Technically, they would only do that work tomorrow anyway, but discussing it now would give her time to prepare emotionally.

Hubert startled a bit. "You already know how," he told her.

"Um." That sounded… Illogical? Careless, even, in a way the meticulous Adrestian Spymaster never was. "What?"

Hubert sighed his "you're asking me to over-explain something straightforward" sigh and leaned forward a little in his chair. "Do you even know what goes into hard interrogation?" he asked. "If I were to interrogate you for, say, what you know about the Horse and Myrddin, in a situation where I held you captive and conversation wasn't working, my first step would be to tie you up, tell you my demands, and leave you for a few hours. For a high-profile civilian, like you, I would, I don't know, slap you around a bit, do some things that cause mild to moderate pain and make you feel intimidated, but nothing to really hurt you, especially not at the start. Yell and act intimidating and make a few threats. Then leave you bound for another few hours. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Bernie shrugged. She had a suspicion she knew what Hubert was saying, but she didn't want to know.

Hubert looked right at her. She couldn't tell whether his eyes were profoundly soft, or if it was just a neutral expression and she was imagining things. "Bernie, your father was horrible. The things he did to you were beyond what my father did to me, and at least I have scars to prove what happened. There are techniques I could teach you to protect your sanity in case someone decides to try pain as a method of pulling information out of you, but anybody who did would be inexperienced and really wouldn't be suited to working on a high-profile case like yours. ...Which, I suppose, is a roundabout way of saying that you already know how to resist hard interrogation, but I wish you didn't."

Bernadetta burst into tears.

Mother had been living in her house for a month. By the end of tomorrow, she would be gone, but for now, she was sleeping next door to Bernie. The same woman who had conspired with Father to hurt Bernadetta's first friend, who had let Father get away with everything he did while fully aware that she was the only person who could stop it. That was who was living in her house. And Bernie had not only allowed it; she had insisted on it. She just let people step on her again and again and again and took all the responsibility onto her own shoulders. She had spent the last month mourning a man who had tortured her, apparently literally, and although she didn't know what she felt before, now she understood even less about her own feelings.

Her intimacy with Hubert was a small consolation. A month ago, he wouldn't have come out from behind his desk and pulled up a chair just so he could take her hand in his two gloved ones. He wouldn't have let her clutch at his arm like a lifeline. Doubtless, he would have silently allowed her hysterics, but with the way things were between them now, Bernadetta was thankful even for the hesitant comfort he gave her.

Ferdinand would have wrapped her up in his arms, she thought. He would have whispered gentle reassurances into her ear and stroked her hair. And, by doing that, he would remind her of the ropes binding her arms, the gentle suggestions Father used to make about how to act.

Hubert only spoke when Bernie was starting to calm down. All he said was, "He hurt you terribly," and then he stood, caressing her shoulder as he passed her, and returned with a glass of water. "I'm always making you cry. I hope I can fix that someday." His voice was soft, but neutral. It didn't feel like he was coddling her. He didn't even make her feel guilty for crying hysterically over such a short conversation.

Bernie finally spared a thought for where she was and who she was with; she must look a mess, and definitely not like the kind of person whose house you would sneak off to late at night for a romantic rendezvous. She was just about to look for her bag when Hubert touched the side of her face and then she felt the soft, plush corner of a still-folded handkerchief under her eye. When he wiped down the tear tracks on the side of her face, Bernadetta looked up at him. He didn't look repulsed. He didn't even look frustrated. As he started on the tears that had run down the side of her nose, he added, "I'll have to stop this bad habit of mine, my dear."

Bernie's tear ducts made another heroic effort. Hubert pressed the handkerchief to the corner of her eye. She took it from him and started to swipe at her other eye.

Hubert sat back and gave her time to wipe the tears from her face and blow her nose.

"It will stop taking you by surprise eventually," Hubert said when Bernadetta felt a little more put-together. "Maybe you get attuned to it, or your feelings weaken over time, or something else entirely, but it does get less… intense."

"I'm done with mourning," Bernie insisted. "After tomorrow, it's done." Wasn't she supposed to do this sometime in the past month? It hardly seemed appropriate, now that she was supposed to be free even of his spectre in the clothes she wore and the invitations she turned down.

"My experience was unusual," Hubert pointed out. "I killed my father at the start of a war. There were worthier losses to mourn long before I had finished mourning him. But I do know that all three of us are haunted by ghosts -- you, me, and Ferdinand. He will keep finding ways to hurt you from his grave, and eventually, you will have put him back in the ground so many times that it will stop overwhelming you. But I'm not certain it ever actually ends."

"Did you love him?" It was a badly thought-out question. It was too much to ask at this point in their relationship. But she still clarified, "Your father."

"I think so." So, he had the information at the ready. He had probably spent as long as Bernadetta considering that type of question. "I don't know what else to call it. That's why I put about as much stock in love as you."

Bernie nodded.

She became aware, suddenly, of how much of Hubert's time she'd taken up. Their meeting was only supposed to be a few minutes. She apologized as she stood to leave: for taking so much time, for troubling him, for borrowing his handkerchief, for always being such a nuisance--

"Bernie," Hubert said calmly when she was near the door, and waited for her to quiet down. "No apologies are needed, but I'll accept them if it brings you comfort." He nodded to her and she fled back to her office.

How badly did she have to present herself, that Hubert's usual insistence that he wouldn't accept such unnecessary apologies had turned into such a gentle reassurance? How much of a mess did she have to be, that it was the end of the mourning period and she was still glad for the excuse to work half-days?

Hubert appeared at her door a few moments later with her revised letter to the Horse, that they'd discussed before Bernie asked her question and everything went wrong, and she got to work encoding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to everyone who guessed Hubert killed Count Varley! He was a miserable, terrible person who was hated by everyone who knew what he'd done.
> 
> And, in case you're wondering: yes, Hubert DID hug Linhardt against their will. He was WORRIED. He was SO CONCERNED. Thank goodness both these idiots came home safe and sound (but, really, Caspar was always going to be fine.)


	20. Laura Comes to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert brings Laura to dinner at Aegir House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Laura chapter! I really love the OC's I made for this fic, and Laura is certainly no exception! I hope you like her, too!  
> If you want to know what a sheer silk Regency-style dress looks like, the V&A Museum has a red one with rose embroidery, and you can find pictures easily online. There was a very long tradition in Europe of people dressing according to their class, partly because of sumptuary laws and partly because it was the proper thing to do, so while one person being decadently dressed while their guest is more plain seems like a power play now, or at least a lack of coordination, that's not at all what I'm trying to imply when Bernadetta greets her friend wearing a very fancy dress; she's really saying "I respect you, and I'm showing it by dressing nicely for dinner, just like you also dressed nicely for dinner (even though the dresses we can afford are very different)." (See also: the many scenes in Pride and Prejudice where Miss Bingley and her friend are in iridescent silk and Lizzie is in cotton or wool.)

It was really something to be dating the Minister of the Imperial Household. Especially to be a third child from an uncrested line, a daughter of a conquered territory near Tailtea, and dating him. By all means, it didn't make sense.

It was a circuitous type of luck that had gotten them started: Bernadetta, the Duchess von Aegir, was fearful, and rigid in her habits, so when she chose Laura's salon to present her writing in, she stuck with it. Laura recognized someone writing about fear and trauma because she did the same, and conversations at the salon had turned into conversations that they continued in teahouses and haberdasheries, and suddenly, Laura was friends with the wife of the Prime Minister of United Fódlan.

Then Bernadetta had befriended her husband's fellow Minister, who was famously single and had become the cause of enormous amounts of speculation among Auntie and Uncle's friends. When Bernadetta had asked Laura if she wanted to meet her friend Hubert, who had an appreciation for the macabre and was just a touch older than most bachelors ("Because of the War, not because there's anything wrong with him, you know?"), Laura had been… "Willing" wasn't quite the right word. That would imply it had anything to do with Laura's feelings. It was more like: Uncle had sat her down the week before and told her that, if she was just going to squander all the opportunities laid at her feet, then perhaps she deserved to be single and she should go back to the Plains to become a spinster under her parents' roof. She was mostly concerned with staying in Enbarr, since she liked the heat and had become comfortable in the society. Certainly, nowhere in former Faerghus would have those summers that made you feel warm all the way through. Especially not every year.

The "Hubert" Laura met at an Adrestian-style cafe was shy, but very polite. He was around her age, and he had an incredibly sweet smile that was endearing, even if Laura had no intention of actually marrying him. It was only afterward, when she told Auntie she'd been on a date to meet Bernadetta's friend Hubert and Auntie paused and said, "...von Vestra?" that Laura realized who he must have been and felt, in retrospect, very brazen and overconfident.

Hubert seemed to like that, though. When they met again, at an art gallery, Laura tried to apologize for acting too casual and Hubert admitted he had found it refreshing. She got a brief flash of that smile, too.

It wasn't long before Laura shared some of her writing, some personal fiction intended to tell Hubert exactly why she wasn't interested in marrying, and Hubert shared his letters from his aunts, which seemed to imply something similar. Regardless of the outcome, they were both looking for a long courtship, and Laura's family was delighted at the thought she might marry so well, and Hubert's aunts were delighted that their stubborn nephew who had never felt obligated to his family might marry at all.

Hubert was secretly very romantic, and unfortunately, he kept the secret from himself, as well, but his preference for art galleries and walks in the park over operas and dances was a welcome reprieve from the usual way Laura was expected to put herself in the paths of eligible men. His voice became very sweet and warm when he talked to her. It wasn't too hard to imagine living comfortably with him, if not for the price you paid for marrying.

Except, he had dismissed that excuse outright when he'd asked her about her feelings, in sight but out of hearing of Uncle. Walking along the shore of a pond, he said, "I had some questions about your writing that I felt were too intimate to ask a few weeks ago." The Fall leaves looked very bright where the pond met the shore, and contrasted starkly with the still-green grass. "Am I right in understanding," he had asked, "that part of the reason you haven't married is that you are uninterested in physical intimacy?" He didn't look at her. They walked calmly, as they had before.

"What would you say if I told you it is?" she'd asked him, mentally calculating how long she could live freely before she had to find another poor man to string along like this.

"I would say you don't need to be afraid of me," Hubert had said. "I truly enjoy spending time with you, and I don't see any advantage in acting in a way that would make you dislike or fear me."

"So you, out of all men, are the only one who would make that sacrifice?" she asked.

"I think plenty of men would," Hubert said very casually, as if he were really considering the question but found it unimportant. "The trouble, for you, is figuring out which ones are willing. I've been living without, these past several years, and if continuing the way I have been is the cost of sharing my life with someone I genuinely like, it doesn't feel like a very high cost."

Laura had been shocked into saying something about how he shouldn't say such a thing so easily, and Hubert had laughed and reminded her he'd been thinking about it since he read the tale about the Radalor. And she hadn't felt like she should let go of his arm as they continued their walk.

Hubert, who was born already expecting to inherit his father's position, had casually extended an invitation to dinner at the Prime Minister's house when he dropped by on Thursday evening.

"Hubert, you are insufferable," Laura said, since he sometimes needed reminding that not everyone was a duke or marquis or emperor. "What on Earth will I wear to dinner at the Prime Minister's house? How do I even prepare for that?"

"Wear whatever you like," Hubert advised, far too casually. "They already like you, and they aren't terribly concerned with appearances, anyway. They often eat dinner in their day clothes when they're alone, just for convenience."

"Bernadetta likes me," Laura corrected him. "The Prime Minister of Fódlan and Duke of Aegir has never met me in his life. The sum total of my dealings with him are the one time he nodded at me when he came to get Bernadetta at the end of a writing salon."

"Well, you said it yourself: Bernadetta likes you," Hubert said, not reacting whatsoever to Laura's distress. "Ferdinand likes anybody his wife likes. And I like you, so even if you didn't know them, it would be reasonable for me to take you to meet my friends. You do realize that, if we continue on this way, the Emperor is going to tell you embarrassing things about my childhood?"

Laura sighed. This was why you weren't supposed to date so far outside your class. "It's just a little overwhelming," she said. "I'll… find something to wear."

"I promise they really won't care," Hubert told her in a very gentle, warm voice. "They just want to have some friends over to celebrate Bernadetta's family moving back into Varley House. There is also some interpersonal business to discuss, that is best handled with all four of us present."

That was weirdly vague, but Hubert said a lot of things that were weirdly vague. She agreed to go to dinner.

Bernadetta greeted her at the door with a smile and an invitation to come into the parlor. Laura hadn't actually been to her house before, but it was every bit as grand as she would have guessed. There was carved wood paneling, fancy wallpaper, tapestries and art hung up in the front hall, a beautiful staircase… The parlor was no less beautiful; they sat on couches upholstered in velvet, with an elaborately carved low table in front of them, set with snacks.

Laura had only seen Duke Ferdinand von Aegir in passing before, but his long, orange hair was unmistakable. His lapel was covered in thick golden embroidery that matched the head of his decorative cane. Bernadetta was in pink silk so thin it was sheer, with plenty of lace to remind you exactly who she was, but the couple smiled at her welcomingly and the Prime Minister asked how her day was.

"A bit busy," she admitted. "My auntie always has lots of guests for the winter festivities, so we went to her favorite butcher to reserve the meats." A ham, two geese, ground pork for sausage, a truly impressive quantity of leaf fat, several cuts of beef…

"Oh, how exciting!" Bernadetta said, smiling. "It is always fun to have a holiday to anticipate."

"I've been staying in her house so long, I think I've become her assistant," Laura admitted. Even the move from Fhirdiad to Enbarr hadn't changed that. "I'm not sure what she and my uncle will do if I ever do marry."

A knock at the door drew the Prime Minister's attention and he went to answer it. "Well, I'm sure they would be very proud of you, regardless," Bernadetta said. "Though I do think you have found an excellent match. Even if rank and money meant nothing, Hubert is very reliable and kind. He has very sound morals."

"Talking about me when I'm not even here to defend myself?" Hubert asked as he entered the room.

"Yes, we have been speaking very well of you behind your back," Bernadetta teased. "Come sit down; Laura was just telling me how lucky you are to have her."

"Bragging already? But we haven't even started dinner," Hubert said as he sat down next to her and the Prime Minister sat next to his wife.

Before Laura could respond to either of them, Bernadetta continued: "She was saying how absolutely essential she is to her aunt's household. Who knows if they would be willing to struggle by without her if she didn't have such a fine suitor." Had Bernadetta ever been playful like this before? Even at the writers' group, she was always reserved. She'd been a little less so in the past couple months, but never as outgoing as this.

"Well." Hubert reached out and took Laura's hand. "If they're that attached, I might still have to abduct her."

He snickered and Bernadetta started laughing at the same time. He turned to smile at Laura, just for a moment, before he turned to the Prime Minister and said, "In all seriousness, though, if things do continue to go so well, your department will be handling it. Have fun with that."

Laura didn't want to ask: handling what? So she didn't. Instead, she said, "Hubert said there was some personal business to handle tonight. I really am grateful to be considered so close to your household, Prime Minister."

"Oh, my apologies," the Prime Minister said. "I did not introduce myself properly. Please call me Ferdinand. And you are Miss Navarre?"

Laura nodded. "Yes, but since I'm on a first-name basis with Bernadetta and Hubert, please call me Laura." She was supposed to call the Prime Minister of Fódlan "Ferdinand." It was surreal. Next thing she knew, she'd be referring to the Emperor of Fódlan by her childhood nickname.

"I am glad to meet you at last, Laura," Ferdinand said with that winning smile Laura had heard about. "As to the personal business… I am not sure it would be best discussed before dinner."

"I think she deserves to eat elsewhere if she finds it distasteful," Hubert said.

Bernadetta nodded and added, "She deserves to make her own decisions about where we stand with her. ...I will say it."

Ferdinand nodded to her.

Laura found she was incredibly nervous. What could possibly require so much preamble?

"A moment," Hubert said, and stood up. He went to the doorway, and when he returned, there was a faint tinge of magic in the air. It was one of his secrets, like their discussion when he'd told her he was investigating her family members.

"A few months ago," Bernadetta said, looking Laura in the eye, "not long before he started seeing you, Hubert started… seeing Ferdinand."

Laura's mind went blank.

"It was with my blessing, and in fact, has been good for all of us. But we all agreed that you should know before you're asked to make any decisions about Hubert."

An affair. Bernadetta was talking about an affair. One she knew about.

"I don't want you to think it's as simple as either you accept Hubert's relationship with Ferdinand and can marry him, or you reject it and will never be able to. Hubert, Ferdinand, and I have a very unique relationship because of Hubert and Ferdinand's time together at Garreg Mach, during the War, and now, in the Cabinet. I don't want you to think that you don't have a say when you've become so important to Hubert."

Laura pulled her hand out of Hubert's.

She was… She was stringing Hubert along. She liked him as a friend. Even their conversations about marriage had been cynical and practical, both of them careful not to over-promise. Why did this feel like a betrayal?

And Bernadetta, for all her compassion, was wrong: of course it was that simple. What kind of say could the third daughter of a conquered baron have in a relationship with the marquis of a conquering empire, one who had the ear of the Emperor? There were dozens of women like Laura. She'd gotten this chance out of luck.

"I… don't know what to say," Laura admitted, which was the truth. Any of her contradictory opinions that she tried to voice would only make her sound either accusatory or self-effacing.

"For my part, I knew that Ferdinand loved me when the arrangement began, and I have never felt his affection falter, even as his love for Hubert grew," Bernadetta said. "And it's very clear to me that Hubert has an enormous amount of affection and respect for you, completely independent of any feelings he has for Ferdinand."

"I hope you understand this is a bit of a shock," Laura said. She wasn't even quite sure what she was being invited into, if, in fact, this really was a precursor to a proposal.

"We just want to ensure the shock comes before you make any decisions that will impact your future," Hubert told her. He made no effort to take her hand again, and Laura didn't know if she felt grateful or disappointed. "We won't be offended by any questions you ask."

"If I could," Ferdinand interrupted. (Goddess, she really was supposed to just call him Ferdinand.) "I have been a great supporter of your relationship with Hubert. I have been pressing him for details and encouraging his progress, just as any friend would. Even when we are alone together, we talk about you and his feelings about you. Bernie and I did not invite you here to expose Hubert for betraying you; we invited you because there are no secrets between the three of us, and we would not be comfortable hiding things from you when you have already won Hubert's affection and Bernadetta's friendship."

"I'm going to need time to think about this," Laura insisted. Was she really supposed to calmly eat dinner with them, knowing all this?

"There is something else," Bernadetta said, which was possibly too much. "About a month ago, after my father died, Hubert and I began… speaking more intimately to each other. And sending the sort of letters Hubert and Ferdinand have been sending each other. But, as I've been in mourning all this time, very little else has happened."

"But you're my friend." How could she? How could she congratulate and encourage Laura to her face, while welcoming Hubert into her confidence behind her back?

"That's why I'm telling you," Bernadetta said. "I don't want to keep secrets. I don't want you to enter into anything without already knowing the context."

Laura turned to Hubert, still sitting quietly next to her, and asked, "What else are you hiding from me?"

"Mostly state secrets," he said readily. "There are very few other people in my personal life who I feel strongly enough about to have anything to hide. Part of the delay in asking for your hand has been ensuring your background check is thorough and unquestionable, but part of it has been… this. The only other person who knows about these relationships is the Emperor, and we are mutual confidants."

"So, if I say yes to the man who I want to be my husband having… relations with both of you, then what? This all goes away and I never hear about it again? I just… go to the salon with Bernadetta every week, knowing that I am sitting in a room with a woman who sleeps with my own husband?"

"If you approve, it will do the opposite of going away," Hubert said. He sounded completely calm, definitely not like a man who was scared his sweetheart would scorn him and refuse to become his fiancè. "You would hear about it frequently, the same way Bernadetta does now. She hears about our outings to the opera and reads my letters to Ferdinand. There are no secrets kept from her, and I would not keep secrets from you."

"Can I talk with Bernadetta alone?" Laura asked. Was there some other, hidden request being made? Would she eventually be encouraged to become Ferdinand's lover? Bernadetta's, maybe?

"The silence will hold without me in it," Hubert said as he stood up. Ferdinand took Bernadetta's hand to hold only while he stood up. "Come get us when you want to speak with us again; we will be unable to hear you outside."

Their footsteps crossed the room and then disappeared completely.

"It can't have been as nice as you said," Laura accused. "There has to have been some…  _ coercion _ , some feeling that he would have betrayed you even if you said no."

"No, none," Bernadetta said readily. Too readily? "When I met Hubert, early this summer, I thought they had that type of relationship, and I was overwhelmed with a feeling of resignation. I'm sure you're feeling something similar right now, and I wish I could reassure you, the way Hubert and Ferdinand reassured me at the time, that nothing was happening between them. It was only months later, when I got to know Hubert better, that I suggested it to Ferdinand. It sounds very strange, but Ferdinand's loyalty to me has not been impacted at all by his growing relationship with Hubert. He is still affectionate, considerate, and very much in love with me."

"That can't be everything," Laura insisted. "Things don't just fit together like that. Especially so well that you decide to sleep with your friend's suitor!"

"I haven't, yet," Bernadetta said, because yes, definitely, the timeline was what was important here. "The most intimate thing we've done was when he comforted me through mourning my father. If you were uncomfortable sharing him with another woman, it would end. But, if you do want to talk about pressure... Ferdinand is very energetic. He was a cavalryman in the War, and now he spends all day in offices and meetings, with very few ways to expend that energy. He would never complain, or try to push me, but I know I do not quite satisfy him." She looked appropriately bashful for a person delivering that information. At last, an expression Laura knew how to read! "Having Hubert involved takes some pressure off. Ferdinand is more satisfied with the amount of lovemaking he does, and I am more satisfied, myself."

That was… a good argument. Hubert had said he would forego lovemaking in order to marry her, but how long would it be until he strayed just to find an outlet for his energy? "So, part of it is knowing where he's going when he strays?" she asked.

"It truly does not feel like straying," Bernadetta said again. "We are all kept apprised of the situation. When Ferdinand receives letters from Hubert, he is excited to share them with me. Now that you know, I'm sure Hubert would let you see the letters Ferdinand has written him. The entire point of all of us meeting tonight is to ensure you can make an informed decision about your own future, before there is any serious discussion of exclusivity or future commitments. Hubert really respects you, you know."

"Does he tell you so as he kisses you?" It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as she said it. Bernadetta really thought she was doing the kind thing by telling Laura all this.

"He hasn't kissed me yet," she said, still perfectly calm. "But we discuss your writing, and he tells me about the stories I was too frightened to read. And he talks frequently about how headstrong you are, always in an admiring way. It's very clear how he feels."

"...Just, he also feels the same way for Ferdinand," Laura filled in.

"He feels a different affection for Ferdinand," Bernadetta said, which was… strange. "It is the same way with Ferdinand: he is in love with me one way, and in love with Hubert another way. It does not feel like his affection is split, because he is in love with both of us very sincerely. It's like how I love both of my sisters equally. They are not vying for a finite amount of love; I love them individually."

Laura could sort of see how these people, in their strange situation, would think they were doing her a favor. And she did like that point about letting someone else handle Hubert's physical desires. Whatever he said, he was one of a very small number of men who would even consider making the offer he'd proposed by the pond. So she said, "I'll stay for dinner. I just need more time to think about this."

"Take as much time as you need," Bernadetta said. "There is nothing that will be asked of you tonight."

Laura nodded. "And… I guess I should get to know Ferdinand? Actually, could I have a few minutes alone? I'm sorry; I came here to be social, but…"

"No, I understand," Bernadetta said. "Here, if you want to talk to yourself or anything like that, this is the room with the spell on it." She stood up. "There should be dinner soon. The rest of us will be in the hall."

The swish of silk and tap of soft leather shoes on hardwood disappeared so suddenly, it had to be the spell.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta emerged from the parlor alone, which didn't stop Hubert from feeling slightly sick. "Is she still taking it well?" he asked before she could say anything.

"That was taking it well?" Ferdinand asked at the same time his wife said, "Yes, she still hasn't backed out completely. She asked for some time to think it over." She slotted herself under Ferdinand's arm.

"I just hope the timing is right," Hubert admitted, not nearly for the first time. Too early, and she wouldn't want to commit to someone already entangled in multiple romances; too late, and she would feel irreparably betrayed.

"She's very practical," Bernie reminded him. "I think I was able to bring up some points that will tempt her."

"I just… don't want to deal with Aunt Yanni if I lose a good opportunity like this and it's my own fault," Hubert admitted. He'd spent enough time, since having time to sleep meant having time to have nightmares, reflecting on his own shortcomings that would repel any reasonable person. He should have fixed those parts of himself earlier. He should have made himself, if not an attractive husband, an attractive companion.

"Your aunts are far too critical," Ferdinand said, which was a very kind lie. "If they are so determined, they can come to Enbarr and figure it out on your behalf. Otherwise, I do not see how they can have any criticisms."

He wished Ferdinand could hold him as he said that.

The problem with having company at night, as it turned out, was that you ended up craving it. Missing it when it was gone. The affection that Ferdinand lavished on him in private was impossible to get in an exposed hallway, but before this summer, he wouldn't have wanted it so badly.

"I like her," Hubert admitted in a voice that sounded far too small. "I like her a lot. I hope I haven't ruined this."

Bernie stepped forward and took his hand in hers, and he squeezed it gently and let it go. "Regardless of what you decide moving forward, it's only right to tell her what you've done in the past," she reminded him. It wasn't very reassuring to know he was doing the right thing when doing the morally questionable thing had given him such good results so many times.

They talked at a rate of one short statement every five or ten seconds until Laura emerged from the parlor. "Hubert, I need to talk to you," she said. She didn't look pleased.

Hubert went.

"I'm going to say something cynical," she told him as they sat down across from each other. Hubert nodded.

"I want to stay in Enbarr," she said as if she were admitting some difficult truth. "I want to be safe, financially. I want to stop feeling like the family disgrace."

Hubert nodded.

"And… The silence spell is still up?"

"It is."

"And… If I can avoid having sex… as much as possible… I mean, Bernadetta was mentioning… I mean, I don't want to lock you into a marriage where you aren't… satisfied… the same way you don't want me to end up in one where you're keeping secrets from me."

Hubert nodded. They did have to discuss that eventually. He wanted to reassure her again that it wouldn't be an undue burden to him, but she obviously had more to say.

"If you can accept that I'm thinking about our relationship like that, then I think I could get to know Ferdinand."

"I don't find any problem with your line of thinking," Hubert told her. "If anything, I think your standards may be too low. But I will keep courting you, if you'll allow me."

"I'm twenty-six," she pointed out, like that was something meaningful. "It's time for me to sort myself out."

"I feel very similar when I think about my aunts," Hubert admitted. He wasn't sure if Laura was trying to imply something about why she hadn't married yet. Her distaste for sex seemed like reason enough not to look for a husband. It was certainly a better excuse than Hubert's partly self-imposed overwork.

"You don't feel like I'm using you?" Laura asked, as if Hubert hadn't considered that for several weeks at the start of their courtship.

"You just told me you want to live where I live, share in my blessings, and bring joy to both of our families. Is that a Morfis marriage proposal, or am I mixing it up with Sreng?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You're such a sap," Laura whined. "Why is it so cute?"

Hubert laughed at that. "You'll really have to do better than that to convince me you're being cynical," he pointed out. "I deal in worst-case scenarios, remember?" He looked directly at her as he added, "And I don't think that having measured emotions makes you shallow or unfeeling. I really don't. You've been working to keep yourself safe all this time, just like I have. It isn't a fault."

Laura looked down and nodded and said, "I guess you should ask Ferdinand's legal team to do whatever you were talking about earlier."

It took Hubert a moment to remember what she was referring to. "Oh, right," he said at last. "Yes, after we're engaged we'll definitely need to draw up an agreement. It shouldn't be anything too unusual. Actually, no, it will definitely be unusual, but the parts concerning you shouldn't be."

"Because I'm a gold digger?" Laura asked. She was smiling, which was the best sign since she'd heard about Ferdinand and hadn't immediately left.

"Yes, exactly. In case my poor, gullible heart was seduced by your womanly wiles. We'll be led through it by someone with experience in those matters."

"Really sweeping me off my feet, over here…"

"Yes, what was I thinking? Surely, becoming a marquesa isn't worth a week or two of legal deliberation over worst-case scenarios. It would be better had you never met me." He started to stand, as if to leave, as Laura made an entirely undignified sound and started laughing.

"Are you feeling better?" Hubert asked, sitting down again. "I don't want to downplay the surprise I gave you…"

"A little," Laura said, but she followed it up with, "What am I  _ missing?" _

That… didn't sound like a question Hubert could answer. "...Pardon?"

"What's wrong with me? What is it that makes Bernadetta von Aegir, a woman who can't look people in the eye without flinching, more attractive than me? I don't think I can be the bashful, sweet, soft sort of person she is."

Well, if there was anything Hubert had learned from his friendship with Bernadetta, it was how to derail that sort of negative thinking. "There's nothing wrong with you," he insisted. "I like-- I  _ love _ you as you are. The Laura Navarre who writes deeply unsettling stories and organizes people's lives whether they notice or not is the woman I've chosen to court. I hope you won't continue to feel inadequate when I have fallen for a direct, strong-minded woman and would never ask her to be anything else."

Laura didn't say anything for a few moments, then smiled just a little and said, "Well. As long as I'm not asked to be anything I'm not."

She couldn't even force her usual bashful smile and her right hand was squeezing her skirt tightly enough to crease it. "If there's anything else unresolved, I would be more than happy to discuss it," Hubert offered. "Otherwise, if you would like to end this conversation and see when dinner's ready, I would recommend you get ready for a much more straightforward question in a week or two, when you've had time to consider everything you've learned tonight."

"It's nothing," Laura said, but her smile looked sad and her hand clenched even harder in her skirt. "I guess… I always knew I wouldn't be able to satisfy a husband, but I didn't expect to discuss that before we even married." Her eyes shone with gathering tears. After what felt like an eternity, she looked down. "...Forgive me. I don't blame you for it. It's… practical. I just wish there was someone out there who felt like I was enough."

"You are." Hubert could almost understand Ferdinand's enthusiastic declarations of love for his wife when he saw someone he cared about stewing in so much doubt. "You were always enough. If other men were unwilling to see that, then I suppose I should thank them for leaving you alone until I was ready to look for a wife."

"You can't say that," Laura insisted. "What gives you the right to say that when we aren't even married and you're already mixed up in an affair?"

"Do you imagine, even for a second, that Ferdinand thinks Bernadetta isn't enough?" Hubert asked. "The woman he has been completely devoted to for seven years? They have been very happily married all this time. If it was dissatisfaction that brought him to me, I would have rejected him myself. If I had only you, it would be more than enough to make me very happy. If you will allow me to continue on with Ferdinand, that will also make me happy. But please never doubt that you always have been, and always will be, enough for me."

"I would still marry you if that wasn't true," Laura pointed out.

"I know." Hubert was, in fact, aware that anyone who could overlook his appearance and demeanor, and especially anyone who could actually enjoy his company, would consider him a catch. He was the Marquis von Vestra and Minister of the Imperial Household; of course he was. A young woman who didn't want to return to the middle of nowhere in Faerghus would have every reason to marry him. But that didn't mean he planned to throw his weight around to make Laura feel like she was beneath him.

"Let's… go to dinner," Laura said. "I think I need to know Ferdinand better."

"I have been told he tends to dazzle people," Hubert told her in his best deadpan. "I recommend not indulging in  _ too _ much flattery; his ego is big enough as it is." He stood and offered Laura his hand. "Shall we?"

She stood and took his arm. They crossed the entryway of the parlor and Hubert removed his spell with a snap. "Laura has decided to stay for dinner," he told his friends, and Ferdinand told them it had just been served two minutes ago.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernie followed Ferdinand into the dining room, hoping she could be a better hostess than usual. It should help that tonight's guests were her friends. She was under no delusions that she was good at conversation.

"Oh, Ferdinand," Hubert said as they sat down. "I forgot to tell you on Friday: in addition to haunting the library at all hours of day and night, Linhardt's asked to speak to each of the Cabinet members privately."

"Oh, they're going to be insufferable, aren't they?" Ferdie asked cheerfully.

"Might be nostalgic," Hubert quipped. "For what do we exist, if not to get chewed out by Linhardt? And El won't say, but she's very open to suggestions for where to place Caspar."

Ferdinand turned to Laura and said, "Linhardt was one of our top healers in the War. Did Hubert ever go on one of his tirades to you when they were being disinherited earlier this month?"

"When who were?" Laura asked, looking more than a little confused.

"Linhardt. They were formerly von Hevring, but their father has a new heir -- Hubert hates him -- and now they and their husband are back in Enbarr."

"Linhardt goes by 'they' because they don't like people thinking of them as a man or a woman," Bernie added, which was probably closer to the answer to Laura's question.

"Oh, okay," Laura said. "Sorry; I haven't heard of that before. I'm still very confused about whether either of you like this person or not."

Ferdinand and Hubert exchanged a look of confusion.

"Well, they are not 'likeable,' per se," Ferdinand told her.

"They say whatever's on their mind, often as callously as possible," Hubert added.

"They are definitely our friend; I know we were both relieved to see they and Caspar had returned safely."

"They are best talked to in small doses," Hubert said. "If you talk to them for too long, you just want to strangle them. But they did keep all of us alive for five years."

"They sound like quite a character," Laura conceded. "I guess I'll meet them someday and see what a friend you want to strangle acts like."

"You will not be disappointed," Ferdinand promised her. "They simply have that effect on people. Everyone except Caspar has wanted to throttle them at some point, and I think that is only because Caspar is one of the most forgiving people I know. Oh, and Hubert, I have, of course, had other things on my mind, but I want you to know your Almyra scandal has kept Bernie and me from visiting Aegir for the harvest, and Nessa wrote me that this year's puppies are some of the best she has seen. We  _ must _ get a handle on this by Spring, or I will have to miss the renewal festival, as well, and that would really be a shame."

"Nessa is the woman who keeps the kennels where Aegir hounds are bred," Bernie told Laura. There was so much background information that the topic barely seemed appropriate to bring up in front of Laura.

"My Almyra scandal," Hubert said. "Ah, yes, my personal international scandal, which I decided to have broken by a whistleblower instead of handled quietly behind closed doors because…?"

"Well, because things were getting boring without a big, messy, public gaffe, I would think," Ferdie suggested. "Really, could you not have waited one more month? Nothing good ever happens in Red Wolf, anyway."

Bernie quietly recommended the potatoes to Laura as they were passed to her.

"You see what I put up with?" Hubert asked Laura, smiling. "Even from friends! Apparently, I control everyone who has ever worked at wyvern mews in Almyra."

"Well, you do always talk about your friends in every corner," Laura replied easily. She smiled cheerfully at Ferdinand and added, "It's hardly your fault if you believed him about the reach of his network, now is it? More importantly, what was that you said about puppies?" She smiled mischievously at Hubert and Bernadetta felt, not for the first time, that she had done a very good job of matchmaking.

"Ah, yes, I am sure you have heard of Aegir hounds," Ferdinand said. "I only have a few dogs in the City, and they are mostly kenneled at the Palace, under Edelgard's care, for use on hunts. The breeding is done in Aegir Duchy by my half-sister, Nessa. She has a wonderful hand with the dogs; understands them better than anyone I have met."

"Your half-sister?" Laura asked. "I was under the impression your father never remarried…?"

Bernie clamped her teeth together to keep herself from making excuses as Ferdinand said, "Oh, he did not. She is my older half-sister, and part of the reason I am so grateful for Edelgard's reforms. I would never have been able to admit to our relationship before, even though she was always a good friend to me when I was young, and she would have had many fewer opportunities available to her."

That seemed to be enough to communicate to Laura that Nessa was the late Duke Aegir's natural child. "I am glad you were able to find such a good placement for her," she said in that careful way Bernadetta recognized from so much time spent trying to say the least objectionable thing.

Ferdinand picked up his wine glass and looked at it -- or perhaps at the wine he swirled slowly inside it. "It was my father's understanding -- and I think this is one of the very few things he was right about -- that Aegir hounds are properly handled by someone with the Aegir crest. They are very energetic dogs, and so many of them could overwhelm someone without this blood in their veins. So, in a way, I am grateful for my father's… indiscretions, even though I also think his actions were shameful and vile." He took a sip from his glass and put it back down.

"We bred dogs at home, too," Laura said, gracefully sidestepping Ferdie's customary badmouthing of his father. "They weren't nearly as famous as yours, though."

"You were from… West of Tailtea?" Ferdinand asked, and Laura nodded. "On the Plains, you would need sighthounds, right? Before all the bloodshed, I remember seeing some of the most spectacular deer, with the tall, spiral horns…"

"Antelope," Laura supplied. "And yes, sighthounds and water dogs. And they need to be able to keep warm, so they have lovely, thick coats. One of my cousins got a little, yappy one from Brigid and ended up knitting it a little sweater just to ward off the chill."

Bernadetta was happy to let Laura and Ferdinand carry the conversation, and it seemed Hubert was, too, since he seldom added any commentary of his own. He looked very pleased, though. Three-quarters of the dinner conversation was about dogs, with other topics thrown in for flavor: Laura and Ferdinand arguing with Hubert about whether Enbarr's summers were enjoyable or not; Laura and Bernie discussing their writing salon's prompt for Red Wolf Moon; Hubert and Ferdinand somehow blaming each other for the current state of the Almyra situation, even though they both knew the other had been working nonstop to mitigate the damage since the news had broken. All in all, it was very agreeable, and Bernie was glad that Laura had been able to come and be welcomed like family, with friendly teasing and full inclusion in the topics of conversation.

"If it all spirals out of control and you do need to go to Almyra, you  _ need _ to be back by St. Cichol Day," Laura declared after dinner had ended, as they all filed back into the parlor. "Really, Hubert, you know how aunts are, so you know how my auntie will feel if you miss the big dinner."

"It's on the day?" Hubert clarified, halfway to grimacing.

"Yes, of course it's--  _ Hubert." _ Laura smacked him lightly on the arm. "You do not buy  _ two geese _ when they're at their most expensive, and then hold your party on any day but St. Cichol Day!"

"I have to apologize," Hubert told her as they sat down opposite each other on the couches. "I will be at a much less enjoyable dinner with Lady Edelgard and half the court. You are invited, of course -- I can get you a formal invitation if you like -- but I have already… Ferdinand, how would one of us go about getting out of the St. Cichol Day ceremonies?"

"Get the flu, but then you could not visit Laura," Ferdie said, sitting next to Hubert, so Bernie sat down next to Laura. He shrugged. "That is nearly the only way." He looked apologetically at Laura and added, "You may simply have to do without him until next year."

"Yes, very helpful," Hubert groused. "Bernadetta, how would a Minister of the Imperial Household get out of St. Cichol Day with the Emperor?"

"Is the dinner actually necessary?" she asked, which was the first piece of the puzzle. "You have traditional ceremonial duties during the day, but the only banquets with ritual requirements are the New Year and the Emperor's birthday, right?"

"I suppose," Hubert conceded. "What of the invitation, though? It has been answered."

"Well, you either tell the event organizer that something came up, or you sneak into their office, steal your invitation, and replicate it exactly in order to change their records," Bernie suggested.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll go with the easy option," Laura said. "That's what he wears so much black for, after all, isn't it?"

Bernie giggled. "Oh, yes, he is constantly reminding us that he could sneak tracelessly into a room by age eight," she pointed out. "Why talk to people when you have other options?"

"Yes, changing the records will definitely be the easiest way," Laura agreed, raising her hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

"I'm getting it from all sides, now," Hubert lamented to Ferdinand.

"Oh, but such a task should be child's play for you," Ferdinand said, and winked at the ladies. "And, anyway, it will be easier for you than it would be for Bernie and me; everybody knows your job is important, but they  _ feel _ that mine is. I think because they have some small understanding of how my job is done."

Hubert sighed and reminded him, "El knows how important I am to have there."

"I do understand," Laura said gently. So, she did realize they were all just putting on a show of helping Hubert get out of the party. "Though, my auntie's party always goes until at least two in the morning; if you are able to drop by before the end of the night, I will be grateful."

Hubert smiled at her (his smile had never stopped being a little creepy, no matter how well Bernie got to know him) and said, "I will try to keep any business in Almyra short just for that."

They talked, and played a new word game Ferdinand had heard about, and discussed current events in a way that ended with Laura accepting an invitation to see a newly translated light opera from Fhirdiad. But all good things must come to an end, and Bernie, at least, had the good sense to see her guests off before looking at the message Hubert had secretly slipped into her hand before leaving.

_ Wait for me in your bedroom _ , it said, so Bernadetta showed it to Ferdinand and they went upstairs to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next week… we’ll join these three in the bedroom!


	21. We Are So Glad To Have You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert comes over for a private evening with Ferdinand and Bernadetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I sent it to my friend in a Google Doc and told her the sex started on page 13. She immediately asked if I’d written twelve pages of clothing porn. That’s not quite accurate, but I’m not going to pretend it’s inaccurate, either. I just think it’s really sexy when people take their clothes off in order to have sex! And also, I like imagining all the soft cotton and linen and silk involved.
> 
> The opera I mention is the Met's production of Le Comte D'Ory, and it's definitely worth looking up production photos from the show! It's about a woman who's sworn not to marry until her brother returns from the Crusades, and a sleazy count who sneaks into her castle by dressing himself and his men up like women on pilgrimage. (And a young man who's deeply in love with her.)

"He cannot mean to come in through the window," Ferdinand pointed out. Should he remove his frock-coat? Bernadetta was either dressed or undressed, but perhaps waiting for Hubert in just his waistcoat would start the encounter off with a casual, familiar feeling.

"If he does, then I would like to hear how he manages it," Bernadetta agreed. "He has any number of tricks for going places unseen; it will not do to worry yourself."

"Should I take my jacket off?" Ferdie asked, not sure why he was nervous. He loved Hubert, and also Bernadetta, and he had loved seeing Hubert and Bernadetta hold hands and share kisses. He would be doing nothing new with either of them.

Bernie just shrugged and said, "If you like. I don't imagine it will make much difference to him."

"And you are alright?" It was important to check in with her. She often failed to mention problems until they were urgent. She looked calm as anything, sitting on the bench in front of the vanity, but looks could be deceiving.

"What are you so worried about?" Bernadetta asked gently. "He is not going to burst in and kiss you so hard you are unable to speak. He is going to come here, looking reserved and nervous, and we will have a very boring conversation about some very exciting things."

Right -- she worked with him. She knew all of Hubert's mannerisms.

Ferdinand fiddled with his cuffs.

"Take off your frock-coat and I will kiss your wrists," Bernadetta offered. "And maybe some other things that I doubt Hubert knows you enjoy yet." She stood and walked toward him, looked up and cupped his face in her gentle hand, slipped her hands into the chest of his frock-coat and slid it off his shoulders. Ferdinand didn't resist.

"I never would have thought that you flustered as easily as me, all those years ago," she admitted as she went to hang Ferdinand's jacket in the wardrobe. "You make such a secret of it. Perhaps Hubert and I should be  _ very _ gentle with you." She finished at the wardrobe and turned back toward him, smiling almost-mischievously. "Achingly gentle. So gentle, we drive you mad with it." She walked slowly toward him.

"I… I wonder if I should keep my shirt on," Ferdinand said. Well, mumbled. "When we…" It made no sense. They had both seen him with it off. But it was different, somehow, to anticipate being seen by both of them at once.

"I hope you won't," Bernie said, and reached out to take his wrist. She brought it to her lips and kissed gently over Ferdinand's shirt cuff. "I hope we can convince you that the famously handsome Prime Minister of Adrestia is handsome all over." She kissed just above his cuff, and Ferdinand felt it almost as if she had kissed bare skin.

Ferdinand shivered as she kissed up the sensitive skin of his forearm, her lips separated from his skin only by a thin layer of muslin.

She planted five slow kisses on his forearm and then leaned against his shoulder. "I know Hubert feels the same way," she said, and Ferdinand wondered if they had discussed it, or if she only thought so. "If you would ever like to feel… appreciated… I am sure we could be very attentive to your needs."

Ferdinand shivered again. That was… a lot to offer. "Not tonight, though," he clarified.

"Not tonight," Bernadetta confirmed. "I wonder if, tonight, we shouldn't team up on Hubert. I have never seen him overwhelmed, as you have."

"He does not get that way as badly as before," Ferdie clarified, because although he'd tried to be sparing with the details, Bernadetta had wheedled the full story of his first night with Hubert out of him: the way a few kisses had melted away the tight control he kept of himself at all times, how he had been so overwhelmed he was content to let Ferdinand guide him, how he had wept with it. How adorably obvious it had been that everything about the experience was new to him, and how fervently Hubert tried to deny it.

"I'm not you, though," Bernie reminded him. "I would think we each have tricks that the other isn't capable of. And would it not be a nice way to welcome him into our home?"

Their home, their bed, even their marriage -- everything about Ferdinand was open to Hubert if he asked for it, and he was glad Bernadetta felt the same. He nodded and held her against his chest, and she hummed something -- a theme from an opera that, in the script, involved a thwarted seduction, but which, in the most recent staging they'd seen together, had involved all three lovers getting into bed together and switching places with each other several times.

"I get the hint," Ferdinand told his wife, smiling. "I will stop moping over nothing and prepare to enjoy myself."

"What hint?" Bernie asked innocently. "Was I dropping hints?"

Ferdinand chuckled and pulled back to look at her, and she was smiling; she knew exactly what she was suggesting. "Will you be the countess who locks herself away in her castle until her brother returns from the Campaigns?" he asked. He leaned down to put an arm behind her knees so he could pick her up, and she obligingly put her arms around his neck. "Who does that make me, then?" He twirled around and Bernie squeaked in surprise, then giggled. "Am I… Hm… The count who has been running about as a wise hermit so that I can lure all the pretty women of the town to my retreat in the woods?" He deposited her on the bed, then ran around the corner so he was behind her. "Or am I the noble young man, who knew you once and has only had small glimpses of your beauty now, but who is steadfastly determined to marry you?" He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck.

"Be the noble one," Bernadetta said. "I want to see Hubert in the women-on-pilgrimage costume."

They both burst out laughing, remembering the ridiculous costume the Count had worn for most of the second act, and Ferdinand wrapped his arms around his wife and she kicked and shrieked as she fell backwards onto his chest.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," a deep voice said from the other side of the room.

"Hubert!" Bernie said. She relaxed against Ferdinand's chest. "I am glad you came back so soon! Ferdie and I have been so excited."

Hubert came toward them, tugging off his gloves. "Laura is home. My driver knew I would warp out of the carriage. We have the whole night to ourselves now." He took Bernadetta's hand and kissed it, and squeezed Ferdinand's hand, too.

"How would you like to start?" Ferdie asked. He looked pointedly at Hubert's brooch.

"Partly clothed, I think," Hubert said absently. He was looking at Bernadetta. "Bernie and I have a lot of ground to cover, don't we, my dear?"

Bernie sat up. "I was just saying as much to Ferdinand," she told their lover. Their mutual lover. Now that Hubert was actually there, Ferdinand's doubts eased and he was entranced by the almost hungry way Hubert was looking at his wife. "But I… hope it isn't too forward to mention that this dress would… Well… It is certainly not made to be handled roughly." She looked down at one of her pretty shoulder bows.

"Shall I start us off?" Hubert asked, and tugged at one of the ends of the bow until it came undone, and then tugged at the single knot underneath. His blackened, slightly shriveled fingers were nimble and precise. Then he leaned down and kissed her shoulder as he began to slide the sleeve down onto her arm.

"Yes, just like that," Bernie told him, grinning. "I wonder what your mouth will do to me."

Ferdinand kissed the crook of her neck, so smooth and exposed as she leaned her head away from Hubert, and she shivered.

Hubert leaned up and kissed her full on the lips -- Ferdie could hear the soft sounds they both made -- and he continued pleasuring Bernadetta's neck. He heard the  _ zip _ of ribbon sliding against ribbon, and then the rustle of silk on linen as the other shoulder of Bernie's gown was pushed down. Ferdinand reached down to the middle of Bernadetta's back and untied the waist, as well, and heard the dress slide all the way down until Bernadetta pushed the sleeves down over her hands and the bodice of it pooled at her waist.

He paused in the important work of pleasuring his wife's neck long enough to ask, "Shall I help you up, my darling?" She would be able to do much more when she was in linen she didn't have to worry about.

"I'll get my dress and gloves off," Bernie said, turning to sit on the side of the bed and hop down to the floor. "You two get comfortable, too; you are still in your cape, Hubert!"

She shimmied transparent pink silk down over her hips and stepped out of the dress. As she went to hang it up, Ferdie turned to Hubert and said, "Ah, yes, I believe you are overdressed at this point in the evening," and trailed a finger over the clasp holding his cape in place.

"Do you intend to do anything about that?" Hubert asked darkly. Ah, so that was his game tonight.

"And if I do?" Ferdinand asked. The excitement of a challenge was always a nice way to start things off. He released one of the two buckles. "What would you do to stop me?"

Hubert grabbed his hand and leaned close toward him. "I have gutted men for less."

That was going a bit far; Ferdinand couldn't help laughing. He jumped up onto the bed and flopped down on his back, asking, "Well, Bernadetta? Do you think Hubert would tear me nape to navel for daring to help him undress?"

"Um--"

Ferdinand looked over as Hubert turned. Bernadetta made the soft dithering sounds that came out when she was upset. Hubert's voice was warm and gentle as he asked, "Would you prefer I not say things like that around you?"

"Well-- d-do what you want; you are here for… your own pleasure…" Her voice was vanishingly small; if Hubert hadn't acted, Ferdinand would have.

"Oh, my dear," Hubert cood, walking toward Bernadetta. "It was only for effect, my lamb." He took her hand and kissed it. "I will be more careful about what I say."

"I don't mean to," Bernie said, and drew in a shuddering breath. Poor thing! "But I still--"

"I understand," Hubert insisted, leading her back toward the bed. "I will keep those taunts to private evenings with Ferdinand. You know I would never harm a single golden hair on his head." He stroked Bernadetta's hair and kissed the crown of her head.

Ferdinand had risen, too, and now he stroked Bernadetta's shoulder. "Come to bed, my dove," he coaxed. "Let me see to Hubert." He reached out and undid the second buckle of Hubert's cape and removed it. "You know," he added, speaking into the fabric at Hubert's shoulder, "Bernie and I were thinking that tonight, perhaps we could spoil you." He ran a hand through Hubert's hair, combing it away from his bad eye. He could never tell if Hubert liked that or not, but it didn't make him flinch like most of Ferdinand's missteps. "But perhaps it is our sweet, delicate Bernadetta who could stand some extra attention. She has been left out for so long, after all." He'd picked up a variety of skills since he began seeing Hubert, so now he knew for a fact that he was pouting  _ extremely _ prettily, having practiced in the mirror dozens of times to ensure it was perfect.

"And I did frighten her," Hubert agreed, unbuttoning his coat as if he hadn't threatened bodily harm for removing his cape just moments ago. His eyes slid to Bernadetta, still in three layers and her stockings, turning the covers down to make room for the three of them. "What do you say, my dear? Should Ferdie and I lavish all our affection on you?"

"Well, if you want to," Bernie said in a small voice, smiling perhaps a bit nervously. "But… Y'know… It's not like I'm the real reason you're here."

"Well, now I want to more, if you insist on saying such things about yourself." He handed his jacket to Ferdinand, who took it and found a place for Hubert's outerwear on the vanity bench. They could take less care with the rest of their things. He heard Hubert mount the bed. "You are unbelievably precious, my dear," Hubert whispered while Ferdie was still turned away, and he turned back to see them kissing slowly, Hubert holding Bernadetta's face to his with the gentlest of fingertips on her jaw.

.-._.-._.-._

Sometime between that disaster of a first time Ferdinand had described and now, Hubert had learned how to kiss.

It was inevitable, really. Ferdinand had always been good at kissing, understood it instinctively, and if he could teach Bernie back when she was all raw nerves and directionless energy, he could teach anyone.

Hubert tasted like those cinnamon lozenges he ate when he stayed up at his work all night and didn't go home and brush his teeth. His fingertips on her jaw were the strangest texture, dry and wrinkled and… hard? It was very different from the supple leatheriness of Ferdinand's calloused hands. The skin felt brittle, like it could crack apart with a blow. She wondered if he would feel intrigued or nervous if she turned to take those fingers into her mouth.

His lips were soft, though. Thin, but soft.

She would have to take care not to say things about her lover's motivations in front of Ferdinand and Hubert. It wasn't that she thought they planned to ignore her or anything, but of course there were Ferdinand and Hubert, who had always had strong feelings even when those feelings had led them to argue endlessly, and then there was Bernie. She was dear to Ferdinand, as much as she supposed an arranged spouse could be, and she was dear to Hubert for reasons she still didn't quite understand despite his letters; but there was a reason that, between them, the first couple formed by choice was Ferdie and Hubert.

Hubert's lips were very nice on hers, though.

She started undoing his waistcoat buttons by feel, wondering if Ferdinand was watching, if she was going too fast, if they were both enjoying this. But then Hubert grabbed her around the back and broke away just long enough to say, "Don't bother about that," then helped her lie down.

She squirmed into place so the pillow was comfortable, smiling and saying, "I have heard there is nothing as handsome as you in just your trousers and shirt," looking up and down the line of buttons she'd been going for. "I have heard that the real shape of your body--" she shifted her gaze to Ferdinand, who was hovering by the vanity as he discarded his jewelry, "--is more enticing than any shaping even the best tailor could give you." She returned her gaze to Hubert's face, smiling. She had no delusions about his body. As he'd started to speak frankly about his father's abuse, she had gathered that he had quite a few scars on his back, and dark magic scars that turned the fingers completely black would leave marks at least up to the elbows. But it was the body, as Bernie said whenever Ferdinand got embarrassed about his own scars, that housed Hubert, and having Hubert's soul inside made it precious.

Hubert leaned forward and turned his face up to kiss her on the nose.

"You must not keep her all to yourself, my moon," Ferdinand protested, approaching the bed to Bernadetta's right. The satisfaction of hearing Ferdinand call Hubert by sweet names never went away; she was the one who made that happen. It was because of her. "If we really intend to pamper her, we must both work at it."

They were serious, then, or at least Ferdinand was. He liked to do that sometimes, the same way Bernie liked to do it for him: show a little extra appreciation, make sure she knew he thought her beautiful. It seemed like overkill to ask Hubert to do it their first night together.

Ferdinand leaned over and kissed her forehead. She preened at the attention as Hubert began to pay close attention to unbuttoning Ferdinand's waistcoat.

"You are the only one here who knows how to do this," Ferdie told her with a wink. "You see how hopeless Hubert and I are. But I think we are qualified to take your petticoat off your hands, so you have more freedom of movement."

Bernie started to sit so she could peel her petticoat off her chemise -- one layer of linen was plenty for the bedroom -- but her chest met Hubert's fingertips. "Did he not say a moment ago we would handle it?" he asked, and released the last of Ferdinand's buttons as Bernie lay back down, her heart pounding.

"Ah -- a word of advice: she dislikes being pushed down," Ferdinand said, ensuring Hubert would only be able to look at her with pity. "If you want someone to tousle with, it will always have to be me."

"Are there any other rules of engagement to keep that sweet smile on your face?" Hubert asked. He was getting better at speaking like that; Bernie couldn't imagine the viper from the Officers' Academy asking anything so sweetly.

"Just… treat me like you have been," Bernadetta instructed. "Speak plainly, and don't try to surprise me." Her voice only faltered a little; it was as smooth as she could make it after being pushed down onto the bed.

"Of course," Hubert agreed, and picked up her hand to kiss it.

"But  _ about _ that petticoat," Ferdinand said, and leaned over her, reaching into her low neckline to reveal and untie the drawstring of her petticoat, and kissing gently between her breasts while he was there. When he drew back, he smiled at his lover and said, "You have not seen beauty, Hubert, until you have seen her in only her chemise. You would never believe such softness could exist in the world."

"I might be able to guess," Hubert retorted, and took a lock of Ferdinand's hair to kiss. (Could his hardened fingers feel soft textures? Did he have any pain or numbness?)

Hubert, surprisingly, did a good job of undressing her. Bernadetta sort of liked being treated like a doll, complimented for her prettiness and handled delicately. Hubert slid her petticoat up without catching her chemise on it too badly, and she only had to arch her back for a second before he'd slid the skirt of it up to the small of her back. He paused when her belly was exposed, only one thin layer of linen over it, and kissed the soft skin through her chemise. She let him pull her close enough to a sitting position to get her petticoat off, instead of sitting up under her own power. Ferdinand, up until that layer came off, was busy trailing kisses all the way up her arm.

"Oh, goodness, my dear," Hubert muttered as he looked at her stays. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, abandoning the gentleness he'd used before in favor of something she could feel through the rigid, reed-lined shapewear. "You will need these off immediately if you want to really enjoy yourself."

Bernadetta's stays that evening were front-lacing, and Hubert unlaced them like some sort of expert. When the sides came apart, she pulled her shoulders back and both men stared at the gap between the two sides of her stays.

Hubert untied the straps from the body of the garment, even though that wasn't strictly necessary, and slipped it out from beneath her shoulder blades. Then the shape of her body was there for him to see, unembellished, unshaped. She kept his admonishment from earlier in mind even though she ached to remove his waistcoat and put them on an equal footing. Like Bernie, Hubert was… normal. Nothing special. Not unattractive. But most men looked particularly dashing in their waistcoats, and Bernie no longer had her stays to give her body a clean, smooth shape.

"You cannot keep her all to yourself," Ferdinand growled, approaching Hubert from behind and reaching around him to undo his buttons. Apparently, he was very intent on kissing shoulders tonight. Hubert looked very pleased with the attention, looking away even though he was still sitting over Bernadetta. Bernie would never have imagined Hubert would make the sweet, breathy little noises that Ferdinand pulled from him as he kissed up his neck. He looked like he was in a state of absolute bliss.

Something about his face and the soft noises he made stripped away the veneer of the Emperor's Spymaster or the Marquis of Vestra and, when Ferdinand pulled his waistcoat off, Hubert was just a person, just a man who was every bit as needy as she was, who had come to share her and Ferdinand's bed. A man who took her smooth hand in his scarred one to kiss, whose hair had been combed roughly out of position so that she could see clearly how one eye focused on her like a homing spell and the other looked vaguely to the side.

"What would you do if I turned the tables?" Bernie asked, testing the waters, as Hubert turned her hand over and kissed her palm. "What would you do if I kissed those delicate hands of yours? What would you do if I took those charred fingers into my mouth?"

The thighs bracketing her hips tensed. Hubert froze with his lips just touching her palm. Then he pulled away, barely able to manage a flickering smile, and said, "I would never ask that of you."

She had learned a lot from Ferdinand. One of the many things he'd taught her, just because of how nervous she was and how kind he was, was how to recover when you made an upsetting misstep. So she reached forward to caress Hubert's cheek and smiled and teased, "well, maybe next time you will want to be prepared for  _ me _ to ask it of  _ you _ ."

Hubert stayed frozen for a moment. He looked stricken; Bernie had no idea how he was feeling, whether he was excited or ready to leave. Then, in the space of half a second, he abandoned Ferdinand behind him to lean forward and kiss Bernie passionately on the mouth.

His hands were smaller than Ferdinand's, one pushed between her and the bed to support her shoulders, one cradling the back of her head. And he was clumsier than her husband, less experienced. Their chests were separated by only two layers of fine linen, the kind that was sheer enough you could see the seams over your skin as white lines. He tasted like cinnamon.

The bed shifted slightly, somewhere to the left of Bernie's thighs, but her face was tilted to the right as she kissed Hubert, her hands occupied with her lover's back. Scars were often numb, so she hoped Hubert's weren't deep.

"Ah, but what am I doing?" Hubert asked when he pulled away, smiling (as much as he ever did) at Bernie. He looked to his right, to Ferdinand, and clarified, "I did agree to share." Glancing at Bernadetta, he added, "You do make it hard to pull away."

"You are our guest," Bernadetta teased. "Of course you should make yourself at home." She reached between them to touch the button at his throat.

"And you, my dear, are already in bed, but not yet undressed," Hubert teased back. Leaning forward, he asked, "Or does Ferdinand take great pleasure in removing your stockings?"

"Ferdinand takes great pleasure in caring for me," Bernadetta said truthfully. "And I for him. And, now that you are here with us, we will insist on caring for you, too, as tenderly as we can."

Hubert picked up her hand where it rested on her chest and raised it to his lips. "And how do I care for you, Bernadetta?" he asked, his eyes burning into her.

"Ferdinand is the expert," Bernie said, looking away. Hubert was too intense for her.

"You must come at her from all sides," Ferdinand said, after a moment. "You need to ensure that, if she denies one of your compliments, you have another waiting, so that you always have something kind to say." Dextrous fingers, that had done the action dozens of times before, began to untie her left garter. "And always,  _ always _ be gentle."

"You spoil her," Hubert protested, but he didn't really sound mad. "If she did not have so many good qualities, I would call you a flatterer."

"Perhaps she deserves to be spoiled," Ferdinand argued. Bernie could hear his broad smile. He took a moment to kiss her knee as he removed her left stocking, and then added, "Someone must, or she runs the risk of staying oblivious to her talents and graces, and that would truly be a shame."

"It really would," Hubert agreed as Ferdie started on her other leg. He leaned forward and kissed Bernadetta's neck very gently, and she could feel his lips on her collarbone as he said, "But I get the feeling I could never expound on your beauty as well as the specialist who sits at your feet, and you know how bad I am at complimenting your skills. I leave too much for you to infer. I will have to work hard to improve." Then he kissed her collarbone in earnest, and down, and down, and down, to the low evening neckline of her chemise, and then he laid his head against her chest. "I fear your husband has attuned me to putting all my compliments in writing, so now I am afraid to scare you off if I speak too frankly."

"You can start small," Bernie assured him. "I am no fool, Hubert; I know you came here for Ferdinand more than me."

Both men froze.

It was very strange, for the man peppering your cleavage with kisses and the man fiddling with your stocking to both pause at the same time. It certainly didn't feel good. And the way Hubert looked at her, like her words had hurt him, made her wonder if she was about to be showered in false reassurances or if the men were going to agree that she was so far beneath their notice that she didn't need to be in the room.

"Bernie, you can't believe--" Ferdinand started, but was cut off by Hubert.

"I think I need to be the one who responds," Hubert said calmly. His voice was entirely too measured as he lay back down, his head on Bernadetta's chest, and said, "I wonder why you would think that when I have had every opportunity not to do this with you." His fingers fiddled with the sleeve of her chemise. "There was no pressure on me a month ago, when I asked to send you a letter. There has been no imperative for me to have lunch with you, or to kiss your hand. Frankly, if I did none of those things, I would have been more successful in convincing you that I want you to succeed me. You were perfectly happy to let Ferdinand have his dalliance with me. So, what are you saying is my purpose here if I am uninterested in you?"

"I'm not saying you don't like me," Bernie reminded him. "Of course you do. You have written me such sweet letters. Just that I am not Ferdinand." There were many types and depths of love. It was natural that some feelings would be stronger than others.

Hubert pulled away from her again and smiled as he said, "I think I understand." He glanced back at Ferdinand for a moment, smiling, then turned back to her and said, "Ferdinand shows his love on the surface. He loves in a way you can see, so you cannot help but be swept along with it." He leaned down and kissed Bernie's forehead. "But I am more careful about the emotions I show. We both know I have them, or I would not bother being here, but are you worried I have not shown the same kind of affection you get from Ferdinand?"

That wasn't it. She wasn't stupid; she had spent the past months learning to read Hubert, and she was good at it. But she wanted to go back to everybody enjoying themselves, so she said, "Yes, that must be it."

Hubert frowned at her. She was no longer terrified of his frowns, only a little intimidated, so she kept her face carefully pleasant until Hubert said, "That was a lie," and she felt herself freeze in place, hoping no one would notice. "You know I know all your tells. Bernie…" He reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand. He felt so much farther away than when he had kissed her forehead just a moment ago. "I don't want your compliance. I want your understanding. You were never ugly. You were never difficult. You were never lesser in any way. And I  _ want _ to be with you."

He spoke in the precise, detached way he used when he outlined thought exercises for her. She couldn't help feeling betrayed by his words.

"I thought we had an understanding," Bernie said, and she sat up against the headboard because it wasn't like she could stand up for herself while Hubert loomed over her like that. "I thought you wouldn't lie to me."

"When have I ever--" Hubert started.

"Just now! I thought, with everything we talked about, you would get it: I don't need you to be madly in love with me. I don't need you to praise me and make up good qualities you can almost imagine I have. I don't want that from you. I just need you to be honest." She reached into her neckline for the drawstring of her chemise, determined to pull it tighter, but her fingers were clumsy. "I don't mind if you like Ferdinand more than me. That isn't a problem. I mind that you would lie about it."

A hand covered hers where they fumbled her drawstring. She hadn't noticed Ferdinand approaching. "Bernie," he said calmly. His eyes looked sad. Bernadetta couldn't look at them for longer than a moment. He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. "My life." He held her hand against his heart. "If I have let you believe that I do those things, then I have grievously wronged you."

She smiled. Ferdinand was so sweet. "Of course you would never say anything against me," she reminded him. "You feel it would be ignoble. But I know--"

"Ignoble to speak ill of my wife when I love her so much," Ferdinand agreed. "When she is the most beautiful, the most  _ desirable _ woman in the world to me." He reached out and Bernie leaned against his chest and let him hold her. "I have never lied to you about your good qualities, Bernadetta. Not once."

"Yes, I know," she agreed.

"Nor embellished," Ferdinand added, and there was no way Bernie could agree with that, so she stayed silent. His hand was warm and comforting on her back.

"Do you remember the day after we were married, when we went riding in the park and I told you I would never lie to you?" She heard the words, and she felt the rumble of Ferdinand's chest as he said them.

"I… remember very little from that time," Bernie admitted. She'd forgotten most of the start of her marriage, except that her family (minus Father) had visited for the last time and they'd gone to the opera and Ferdie had given her his mother's opera glasses. She had more memories of Gloucester.

"You insisted, again and again, that you were plain and otherwise unlikeable. I had no idea what to do; I was seventeen and such a nervous bride was more than I knew how to handle. I had heard all these vicious rumors about how antisocial you were, but when I met you, it was clear that you were just afraid and overwhelmed. You read so much into everything I said that I decided to say clearly that I would never lie to you. That I was glad I had such a beautiful wife so I would never have to think of a way around calling you plain."

"I don't have a problem with the way you talk about me," Bernie told him. "You always find a way to say something kind, even when I have been… difficult."

"Do you really think I am so cruel that I would raise people's expectations of you above what you could meet?" he asked. "Tell me when I have embellished your charms beyond what I feel. If others disagree, that is their own inability to appreciate you."

"I want to go back," Bernie said. She could feel herself shaking. She felt unstable, sitting on the bed, her legs going weak. "Ignore everything I've said. Let's just have fun."

Ferdinand said her name and leaned forward, held her against his chest and, Goddess, but that chest was so warm and soft and comforting. Had always been comforting, ever since they were married. A third hand carded through her hair and Hubert said, "I fear I will not have any fun at all until you realize I am here to see  _ you." _ She heard the bed creak just slightly, and then felt his soft lips on the side of her neck. "Should I kiss the places Ferdinand has kissed?" he asked, his breath warm and close against her neck. "Will that convince you my feelings are as strong as his?" He kissed her again. "Or perhaps you would like me to play a bit rougher, mark your beautiful neck with a pretty little bruise in your favorite purple so everyone will know how deeply desired you are." He nipped at the sensitive skin there and Bernie squeaked in surprise and bonked his jaw with her shoulder as she instinctively pulled it close to her neck.

"You are so quick to think of pain," she scolded, still leaning against Ferdinand. "Please stop; I'm not asking you to feel guilt over perfectly natural feelings."

Hubert changed tactics, trailed a line of kisses all down her spine, everywhere Ferdinand's arms didn't cover. He stopped at her tailbone, then leaned against her back, saying, "If I were really so uninterested in you, wouldn't I have stopped insisting by now?" He took her right buttock in his hand, kneading it as he added, "Believe what you like about Ferdinand; if our relationship is based on trust and honesty, I would only harm myself by claiming something untrue. I suppose Ferdinand would give me those puppy eyes for a moment, but I would retain your respect." He reached around and placed his hand flat against her stomach instead, and leaning back, she could feel his arousal. "It would be a senseless lie. By now, it must be obvious that a lie would be more inconvenient than the truth. Just like I taught you."

"Unless you have a longer game," Bernie countered. Thinking so logically, like when they discussed interrogation techniques, was difficult when she was pressed between Ferdinand before her and Hubert behind. It took all her concentration. "Perhaps you are planning something later, for which you need me to believe you love me madly. Perhaps you are trying to distract me from my feelings by keeping the argument going, so that I will become less distraught."

"My love is freely given, Bernie, the way I hope yours is," Hubert assured her. She could hear his smile, and then feel it as he kissed her neck, the right side instead of the left this time. "If I asked anything in return for it, I would disappoint myself more than anyone."

"And mine," Ferdinand added. "I would live peacefully, even happily, with you if I felt no particular affection. But I love you more than my own life, and you know I am aware of just how highly I value that."

"Lay me down and show me," Bernie commanded, feeling uncertain that she was in any position to ask that of them. "And I will try to feel your affection in the way you touch me and speak to me." Ferdinand had offered before, but she wasn't sure she had ever asked for it so directly. And what a way to welcome Hubert to their bed! But he made some good points and clearly wanted to be believed. And she couldn't bear to disappoint Ferdinand any more than she already had.

Hubert pulled away from her back. Ferdinand moved one of his arms down behind her thighs and picked her up like she weighed nothing, like he had always been able to do. She tried to change her mind to accept their affection as completely sincere, but knew it would happen slowly, like washing the paint out of a brush.

She tried, anyway, as she let Ferdinand lay her on the bed, told herself it was time to absorb a new color.

"Where shall I start?" Hubert asked, already reaching for her wrist. His touch was gentle. It was light and nonrestrictive. She could have pulled her hand back, or lifted it up, and he wouldn't have been able to stop her. He barely tightened his grip as he maneuvered her hand so he could kiss each of her fingertips. Perhaps Ferdinand had taught him that; Bernie imagined it wasn't the most common gesture. Did they talk about her at their teatimes? No, of course they did; Ferdinand had reported that much back to her. A better question was: did they sigh over her? The tenderness in the way Hubert handled her said: maybe yes.

Ferdinand was situated on her right. He was lying next to her, and smiled a little sadly as he fiddled absently with her sleeve. When she looked at him, he said, "Hello," and his smile changed to one of fondness.

Bernadetta said "hello" back.

"Do you ever think, my love, about all the years we have spent learning about each other?" he asked as he put a hand on her belly, rubbed the spot at the bottom of her ribcage that was so sensitive, and then let his hand wander up to massage her breast, the lumpy inside and loose skin all treated casually and firmly. As he moved his hand to the other side of her chest, she thought maybe she saw the stars in his eyes that Hubert had described.

Hubert was laying firm kisses across the heel of her palm. His pale eyes flashed with intensity when he saw her looking at him. He placed his next kiss on the center of her palm, and she took his face in her hand. The angle was bad, probably not romantic at all, but she didn't know how else to show that she  _ saw _ him.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering gently there, and smiled down at her (as much as Hubert ever smiled) and said, "I know almost nothing in comparison. I'll need a bit of instruction."

"Try the inside of her arm," Ferdinand suggested. "Her wrist to the inside of her elbow is very sensitive." His hand was wandering down, over her belly and then below it, getting just a bit gentler, but carefully staying over larger muscles that could be treated more roughly. When he started fingering her in earnest, she gasped and then smiled at him as her hips tilted down into the bed to get the best angle.

Ferdinand continued fingering her through her chemise because he knew what she liked, and every time she looked at him, his eyes were gentle and warm. Hubert kissed his way down her arm, across her shoulder, lavished affection on her neck because he knew less. His actions were no less caring. Bernie did her best to take their actions in the good faith they were offered in, as proof that both men cared deeply for her.

It built in her, as surely as tension and excitement built just below her stomach. Ferdinand had probably expended all the effort his knee would give him just holding her and laying her down like this, she realized distantly as he continued to work on her. He would usually have at least one finger inside her by now, but of course that was impossible through the fabric. She clenched around nothing in its absence. Meanwhile, Hubert lavished such sweet, gentle affection on her neck, her chest, and eventually, her lips that she could barely think. Ferdinand alone was only one person, and he could, of course, kiss her while he worked on her down below, but not so carefully and deliberately as Hubert could with nothing else to focus on.

It hit her all at once that they loved her, like a wave crashing over her, followed shortly by a wave of physical release down below. She clenched over and over again on nothing and Ferdinand didn't stop giving her something to rut against and she grunted into Hubert's mouth and pushed harder against him, and they  _ loved _ her, they wanted her, both of them, it wasn't embellished, it wasn't faked, they were all three of them of equal importance in this arrangement, and she was coming.

She breathed heavily, feeling more than a little bit dazed, and it took Hubert a moment to notice she was barely responding to his kisses. He left one on her nose for good measure when he pulled away, and his mouth on hers was replaced with his gentle hand on her shoulder. Ferdinand massaged gently, much gentler than when he'd started, to bring her smoothly out of it, laying precious kisses to the top of her arm. She started crying, overwhelmed by knowledge that she had taken years to absorb, knowledge she had denied herself because, if she could be loved so easily, so completely, then what had been the purpose of her entire childhood?

"Oh, darling," Ferdinand cood, and the bed shifted and he stroked her hair, his hand nearly as big as the side of her face. "Bernie, my dearest. My love." He lay on her, gently and deliberately, as he often did when she was upset. He kissed her cheek and laid his head down in the crook of her neck as he murmured softly to her, and she clutched at him and wished she could show the same gratitude to Hubert, who stroked her hair but didn't seem to have anything else to do.

Hope was hard. Once it was broken, it didn't come back easily, and Father had ensured she knew she was unlovable, unlikable, someone people would only claim to care about when it was convenient to them.

And Father was dead. She had no proof, but she knew Hubert had killed him. It hadn't felt like a gift until now. Now, maybe everything Father had stood for would die. She would have help putting him in the ground.

"I think I'm okay," she said at last. "I think… I can hear you now. I can believe you."

"Welcome back, my dear," Hubert said, and took her hand in his from where it was resting, more gently now, on Ferdinand's back. He held it in his two withered hands, stroking gently. "We are so glad to have you."

"In both senses of the word," Ferdinand agreed. The pun was awful. Bernie couldn't bring herself to do anything about that.

"Now, then. What can I do for you?" Hubert asked, and kissed her hand. "My sweet Bernadetta, my lover whose body I have yet to learn, what would you enjoy?"

Bernie smiled. She kissed Ferdie on the cheek and said, "You are both still much too dressed. How about you help Ferdinand out of his waistcoat, the way he helped you out of yours?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter, you get to read that letter Bernie wrote and the boys ship out to Almyra!


	22. Splitting the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard gets a cold. Hubert gets seasick. Laura gets to meet the Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you really enjoyed the last chapter! I've had it in my back pocket for a While now -- not so with a lot of the Almyra scenes -- and I hope it made you feel a lot. Now, let's join our characters in a more normal part of their lives, when they're not having any life-changing revelations about their trauma. Let's join them on a normal, crummy day, where it's been cold and cloudy for a week and someone tries to go to work with a cold even though her friends think it's a bad idea.
> 
> Do you ever think about how the ruins we see have had all the paint worn off? The big buildings that we usually think of as gray or brown or yellow were almost all elaborately painted once. Ancient Greek buildings were positively TACKY, and a lot of Greek and Roman statues had the paint intentionally washed off by the Victorians to make them more "elegant." I don't think Enbarr would be the boring yellow we see in the game, and I don't think Almyra's capitol would be all one color, either. That's just not something humans would put up with on a societal scale. We need beautiful things around us, and also create them to show off our wealth. I hope I've done a good enough job of describing the elaborate decoration of buildings in Enbarr and elsewhere that my descriptions of architecture and furnishings in Almyra will seem fitting instead of excessive.
> 
> The letter is a reference to the love letter from "Letters," a song from "Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812." It's sent by Anatole to seduce Natasha into eloping with him, and the response Ferdinand sings to Bernadetta is what Natasha sings to herself when she receives the letter.

One of Hubert's duties that he didn't mind at all was reporting to the Emperor every morning. Officially, it was a way to stay coordinated, with a review of Edelgard's schedule as well as a chance for Hubert to fill her in on anything important while he was there. Unofficially, she was his dearest friend and he liked having a chance to see her built into both their schedules.

One thing that Hubert knew was not on her schedule, not even on the most hectic day, was _yelling before eight in the morning_. That was going to require some explanation, he thought as he entered her parlor, walking past some very befuddled-looking guards who were being assured by one of the Emperor's ladies-in-waiting that she was in no danger.

"And I told you--" El was saying in her most imperious voice as Hubert walked in. Her bedroom door was wide open, but as Hubert approached, he saw she was still in a dressing gown, a steel blue one with Gautier embroidery down one side. Her hair was still in its night braids, as evidenced by the frizz that surrounded them.

"You told me nothing important," Linhardt said. Oh, _that_ was why Hubert hadn't recognized their voice: he'd only heard them yell during battle and other emergencies before. "Sorry, have you never heard the word 'no' before? Need me to define it for you before you'll get back in bed, where you belong?"

"What seems to be the problem here?" Hubert asked as he walked into the room. He had a guess; El wasn't eating well the previous evening, which usually meant she was coming down with something. "Linhardt first."

They started on a tirade with the same tone they'd used when a shipment of medical supplies was delayed during the War: "Look, all I think is that, if I'm going to have a fancy title like 'royal physician,' I should have literally any amount of authority! And I especially think that, when the Emperor is running a fever and picking at her breakfast, that authority should include the ability to tell her she's taking a day off! We all know I'm the one who'll get blamed if anything happens today, so why is my ability to keep Edelgard safe contingent on her consenting to stay in?"

"And I told _you_ I have nothing hugely stressful today, as Hubert will confirm!" Edelgard argued, gesturing at him with her whole arm. "No cabinet meetings, no sports, no diplomacy or mediation… It's a nice, relaxing day of getting carted around to various gathering halls and sitting around as I wait to give short speeches. What's so hard about that?" She went to sit at her vanity and Hubert didn't miss the way she swayed on even a few short steps.

"The Emperor is right, of course," Hubert said, using his serious voice and his serious face.

 _"Thank_ you, Hubert!" Edelgard exclaimed, not understanding his meaning.

"Naturally, while the Emperor is ill, her schedule can include nothing strenuous." He went to untie her braids so he could redo them and send her right back to bed. "Do you think the Assistant Minister of Religion would be a good substitute? He always seems to give effective speeches. Ferdinand would do well, but he's a bit swamped reviewing our treaties with Almyra as well as investigating precedent for your personal project."

"You're a betrayer, Hubert. This is treason," Edelgard grouched, but she didn't stop him from brushing her hair. "Go out and send in someone who'll fight for me."

"Ferdinand fought for you for five years, and I think all he would do is cheerfully quote some platitudes and part your hair badly," Hubert pointed out. "Or is your Prime Minister treasonous, too?"

"It's just some speeches," El insisted. "It's barely even cold out."

"Exactly. It's only some speeches, El," Hubert parroted back at her. "Someone else will do it just fine." He turned to a lady-in-waiting who was standing against the wall, probably not daring to interfere in the Emperor's business when her temper flared up, and said, "Fetch the Assistant Minister of Religion, would you, Miss Gabor? On a matter of some urgency. And… hm… The Minister of Domestic Affairs; he was always a good orator." The lady curtseyed and rushed out, probably glad to be free of her emperor's sour mood.

"This is ridiculous," Edelgard tried, because she had one of the strongest wills in all Fódlan. "I'm the emperor of a continent. I'm not getting taken completely out of commission by a cold."

"Would you prefer pneumonia?" Linhardt asked. "If you keep on this way, I'm sure it can be arranged."

"What an impressively powerful cold, making sitting up feel so exhausting," Hubert remarked. Edelgard was listing to the side already, and would surely have denied it if he pointed it out. "It may be the time to change tactics, Your Majesty; I imagine you can get Linhardt to allow you some social calls if you promise to spend the day resting."

"If I could leave the room without worrying you would run off on me, you might even get some medicine," Linhardt griped. "Hubert, you _have_ to tell her ladies to obey me first."

"I have to do no such thing," Hubert countered. "What are your terms for allowing El some visitors?"

"No more than three," Linhardt said immediately. "And she has to take a nap sometime today. Will you look into her schedule for tomorrow?"

"Send Duchess Aegir," El said. She was leaning on the vanity now, which made Hubert feel glad he was almost done with her braids. "And Caspar, to cheer me up. And you'll visit tonight, won't you, Hubert?"

"We can have dinner together," Hubert promised her. "And yes, Linhardt, that will be no problem. Here, El, come to bed and I'll pull out a nice nightdress--"

"And maybe, before you hold my time and my imperial duties hostage, you can try to fix my **_horrible body,"_** Edelgard yelled with no preamble. There was some startled tittering from the other lady-in-waiting, who had returned to wait patiently out of the way. "That's your real job, isn't it? Not brewing me a nice cup of mint or honey-lemon, but fixing this before I _die!"_

Ah, yes. Hubert had expected an outburst like that. Edelgard's temper only got worse when she was tired, and she was clearly exhausted.

"My experiments are going at the expected rate," Linhardt said, seemingly unfazed by Edelgard yelling at them. "They shouldn't be paused or even slowed by your illness, unless you do opt to overwork and make yourself worse." They'd wandered over to her wardrobe at some point, and now pulled a frilly shift out of it. "Ooh, I always did like eyelet lace. I should get one of these for me." Without closing the drawer they'd pulled it out of, they dropped the nightdress on the bed. "But the problem of your horrible body is being dealt with, so I just need you to hold up your end of that bargain and make sure that body is alive for me to treat once I figure out a cure."

They ducked out of the way as a hairbrush was hurled their way with all the speed the Crest of Flame could muster.

Edelgard stopped making real sense around then, clinging to whatever argument sounded most threatening as Hubert handed her over to her remaining lady-in-waiting to have her nightdress changed and he and Linhardt turned around for the few moments it took.

"I'm on my way out," Linhardt admitted while Edelgard's lady handled her. She was prickly as ever, but there were blessedly few ways to screw up changing from a nightdress to another nightdress. "If you think I'll hang around so my father can call me an 'inattentive young man,' you have another thing coming." They dipped in something between a curtsey and a bow without turning around and said, "I'll send medicine for you, Edelgard. I'll try not to make it taste too bad. Do get some rest."

As they approached the door, there were two quick knocks and a maid slipped inside to say, "The Minister of Domestic Affairs is here to see you, Your Majesty," and Linhardt winced.

Hubert heard fabric rustle and the lady dressing Edelgard said quietly that she was decent. As Hubert and Linhardt turned around, El said, "Send him in. And Lord Ailell, when he arrives. I'll receive them in here."

"As Your Majesty commands," the maid said, dipping in a curtsey.

"This door is a bathroom, right?" Linhardt asked, making a beeline for the other door out of El's room.

"You have a spine, Linhardt," Hubert snapped. He was getting sick of Linhardt's aversion to anything that reminded them of the past, especially their parents. Were they not a war hero and the Royal Physician, willful enough to tell off the Emperor of Adrestia? "Use it and leave politely."

Count Hevring came in then, bowing in the doorway with a quick "Your Majesty" for Edelgard. He looked up and saw Hubert and Linhardt. "Ah. Minister, Linhardt."

"I _have_ a title," Linhardt bit out, clearly at the end of their patience after only a couple seconds.

"Yes, and a name, which your mother and I gave you. She misses you terribly, Linhardt; you could at least respond to her dinner invitation." Good; he wasn't any more rude than in any normal unpleasant situation.

"Then perhaps she could be bothered to write one that mentions my husband," Linhardt replied snippily. "As he was not invited, and as we are newlyweds and completely mad for each other, I failed to see how I could respond." They dipped in a curtsey. "I have Royal Physician duties to see to. The Emperor is sick, after all. I will await a corrected invitation." They started walking out of the room at speed.

"The Bergliez boy would do anything you asked," Count Hevring asserted, now obviously trying to pick a fight. Linhardt, unfortunately, actually stopped to listen. "Not because he loves you; just because you can talk circles around him. Very near the dimmest boy I ever met. You can't expect anyone to see that sham marriage of yours as anything other than some personal project. You aren't even married under Adrestian law; what could a marriage even accomplish?"

Linhardt had stood still while their father criticized their biggest life choice so far. They turned to face him, smiling tensely, and said, "Caspar may not be the quickest wit, but he knows his own mind and he knows what marriage is. This may be beyond your understanding after so many years of power grabbing and cynicism, but I love Caspar for his exceptionally kind heart. And you would have to be delusional to assert that he doesn't know what it means when he fucks me. Good day, Minister."

They turned on their heel and left while their father was still speechless, and Hubert had to fight not to laugh. That was Linhardt, alright: painfully frank, always ready to burn bridges, and always waiting expectantly for others to join them on the moral high ground. "Minister Hevring, if you would, the Emperor has a request to make of you today," he managed to say without cracking a smile.

.-._.-._.-._

The walk to the Emperor's suite was impressively intimidating. Bernadetta wasn't lost, but she still felt like she was in the wrong place. Hubert had called the summons "long overdue" and also "not a summons," but there was still a (fairly large) part of Bernadetta's brain that insisted she must be beneath the notice of the Emperor. She was nobody compared to who she could have been. She was the Duchess of Aegir, but did paperwork for the Ministry of the Imperial Household. How could she compare to the woman who had assembled her own army to fight the Church of Seiros at eighteen? She didn't know how she could have anything interesting to say. They'd barely even spoken at Linhardt and Caspar's return banquet, and they'd been sitting next to each other then.

She paused in front of the tall, very solid-looking guards outside the Emperor's suite. She didn't curtsey even though she impulsively wanted to (she was a duchess; since when did duchesses curtsey to guards?) but instead said, "Duchess Bernadetta von Aegir to see the Emperor."

The guard on her right bowed and went inside for a moment. It was a few seconds after he returned that a woman in the livery of one of the Emperor's body servants came to the door and said, "Please come in, Your Grace."

Bernadetta was filled with nerves, but she followed the woman inside. "The Emperor is quite ill," she said, pausing in the parlor. "This is meant to be a social call only, and she may need to rest at any time. Please don't take offense if your meeting is cut short by her needs." She curtseyed and continued guiding Bernie to the bedroom.

Instead of pointing out that she was no stranger to sickbeds, Bernie just said, "Thank you for your advice" and followed the woman into the bedroom.

"Oh, good, you came," the Emperor said as she entered the room. She wore her hair in simple braids, like Ferdinand wore to bed, and everything about her eyes seemed droopy, like she was ready to fall asleep at any moment. She wore a white nightdress decorated with ruffled lace and lavender ribbon. She looked small and frail without all her layers and imperial red and gold. She looked pale except for her cheeks, which flushed bright, feverish red. "I've been neglecting you for so long, I was worried you wouldn't." She cleared her throat. It sounded unpleasant.

Bernie curtsied and said, "Your Majesty is very generous" and sat down in the chair next to her bed.

"Oh, skip the formalities," the Emperor of Adrestia whined. "I don't have the energy to decipher it all. I was at school with your husband and your lover is my dearest friend; I hope we can at least use first names."

Hubert's soft interrogation surprise rounds hadn't been for nothing; Bernie startled a bit and said, "Excuse me? Are you talking about Hubert?"

The Emperor rolled her eyes. "It isn't a secret from my ladies-in-waiting," she said. "I might be subtle enough for that, if I really tried, but Hubert isn't."

That made Bernie crack a smile. "He really isn't as subtle as he thinks he is, is he?" she asked, keeping her voice down.

The Emperor laughed, which turned into hacking coughs. Bernadetta stood instinctively to put an arm around her back as the ladies who waited on her said her title, clearly dithering over whether they should do anything.

Linhardt was her physician; if they hadn't left a lower-ranked healer there, it meant the Emperor didn't need any additional healing magic. Bernadetta said reassurances in the gentle tone that had worked on wounded soldiers in the War when sweet words were all she could offer them. In return, the Emperor clung to her arm and then looked up at her with fearful eyes when the coughing subsided.

"You won't leave, will you?" the Emperor asked as Bernadetta kept rubbing her shoulders with the arm that wasn't clutched in that powerful grip.

"I'll stay, Emperor Edelgard," Bernie promised. She helped her lie back, like she had been before. "But don't let me interfere if you need to rest."

"Just Edelgard," the Emperor mumbled. "And I just woke up three hours ago."

"Even so," Bernie said. In her experience, the Emperor might even get to sleep faster if she had an attentive companion. "There is nothing as tiring as illness or injury, is there?" She sat back down, but held Emperor Edelgard's hand for good measure. "If you fell asleep right now, I would still feel honored that you asked for me out of everyone in the Palace."

"I should have before," the Emperor said. "At school. Or your entitlement. Or your recent successorship ceremony. Anything. I know I'm the one who should have reached out. I hope we can be friends even though I was so late to do this."

"I… would not presume to be friends with my own emperor," Bernie pointed out. The offer could be rescinded at any time, anyway; the Emperor was obviously too tired to think clearly.

"Would you presume to be friends with Edelgard?" she asked. "I have vassals and servants and subjects. But I'm very short on friends. I really do hope you'll be one of them."

Bernadetta ducked her head. "Thank you, your m-- Edelglard," she said. "Though, you know, _I've_ certainly never been too nervous or busy or overwhelmed to extend an invitation in good time." She winked to ensure the Emperor knew she was joking.

Edelgard smiled, which was about as close to laughter as Bernie figured she could expect. "I wonder if you would come to tea with me when I'm well," she said in that somewhat toneless voice people used when they were falling asleep.

"Any time," Bernie promised as Emperor Edelgard's eyes fell closed. More soothingly, she said, "Any time," and waited until she was sure the Emperor was asleep to stand up. She nodded to the ladies-in-waiting, then walked quietly into the next room. One of them followed her.

"I apologize that Your Grace took the time to come here for such a short meeting," the poor girl said.

"It was no trouble at all," Bernadetta insisted. "I was only glad she was able to get to sleep. Aside from magic, there is really nothing as healing as rest."

"The Royal Physician sent some medicine shortly before you came," the lady told her. "It must have made Her Majesty tired."

"It really is alright," Bernadetta insisted. "I have certainly spent enough time coaxing people to sleep to recognize a victory when I see it. I meant it when I said I feel honored that the Emperor thought of me." She nodded to the lady and asked, "Is there anything the Minister of the Imperial Household should know since the last time he saw the Emperor?"

"He will be glad to hear she is resting," the lady said, curtseying again. "Thank you for your understanding, Your Grace."

"I will leave you to attend to your lady," Bernie promised, and left. It was good, really; what could she have to say to the Emperor? It was probably for the best that, with the War over and so many people renewing their first impressions, Bernie was able to come across as kind and calm. She usually just came across as nervous, so it was the best possible outcome, really.

And the Emperor knew about her and Hubert. And clearly thought it was good. What a thing for the Emperor to know! Bernie wondered if Ferdinand knew that Edelgard knew.

.-._.-._.-._

There couldn't, Ferdinand thought, be one month together where he could live peacefully in his home with his wife. There always had to be something, and the Almyra situation was turning into a nightmare. When asked about it at teatime, Hubert didn't deny that he'd known about the government contracts with the illicit dealers. It just made Ferdinand feel the fool for not realizing that Hubert's fixation on Almyra was more substantial.

A date was set for the three of them to leave -- Ferdinand, Hubert, and Count Bergliez. The travel arrangements were handled by the Count. After the teatime where Hubert admitted to keeping the secret, Ferdinand found a letter in his pocket. He waited until he was home to open it.

Hubert's handwriting was not beautiful, but it was distinctive. Reading the familiar words in his lover's hand made Ferdinand's heart pound:

_Ferdinand, Ferdinand, Ferdinand, I must love you or die._

_Ferdinand, Ferdinand, Ferdinand, if you love me, say yes,_

_And I will come and steal you away,_

_Steal you out of the dark._

_Ferdinand, Ferdinand, Ferdinand, I want nothing more. Just say yes. Just say yes._

_Yours,_

_HvV_

_P.S. Just say_ _yes._

He ran to the parlor, where Bernadetta was doing some needlework, and all but dragged her to the bedroom. It had to be her doing; devoted as he was, even reading the book of the show wouldn't have told Hubert how distinctive those lines were. When they were alone, Ferdinand handed Bernadetta the letter and sang, "Yes, yes, I love him! How else could I have his letter in my hand?" He picked her up and swung her around. She was giggling. "I read it twenty times! Thirty times, forty times, each and every word," Ferdinand continued, and put Bernie down so he could hold her tight as he finished, "I love him. I lo-o-ove him~!"

"I thought you would like it," Bernie told him, cuddling against his chest. He could hear her smile in her voice. "I'm glad it was such a nice surprise."

"The best surprise!" Ferdie agreed. He ducked down and picked her up in a steadier hold, and she obligingly wrapped her legs around his hips. "Thank you _so much_ , my love! I was dreading Almyra, but now I look forward to it!"

Bernie kissed the top of his head. "You must go and enjoy yourselves," she instructed. "And, when you come back, make me feel that I have been missed."

"I will miss you sorely!" Ferdinand promised, leaning his head against her chest. "There is nothing about Hubert that replaces you, my dove. And you must promise to miss me in return, but not _so_ badly that your work suffers." He twirled around again, and Bernie shrieked with surprise and delight. Ferdinand laughed and said some nonsense about how he would miss Bernadetta less if he could remember her sweet touch, and Bernie shifted so she rubbed against him and indulged him, and it was some time until their bedroom was quiet again, Ferdinand reading and Bernadetta sewing, their ankles tangled with their unwillingness to part.

.-._.-._.-._

Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses, Ferdinand reflected as he stood by the railing of the ship the delegation was traveling on. And their season, as well. The sea air was refreshing in Summer, at least when it didn't turn everything humid with no relief from the heat, but it was bracingly cold in Winter. Despite that, Hubert seemed to be worse off than Ferdinand.

"It is only a couple days," he reassured his love, rubbing a hand over Hubert's shoulders. Hubert had been unwell seemingly since before they'd left the dock, and it had taken only a little over an hour for him to be sick over the side of the ship, barely enough time to leave the harbor. "And you will have a day before we reach Palomir for you to readjust to the land." And for him to eat something and keep it down. "And then we can see Claude again!"

"I did like Claude," Hubert admitted. His voice was soft because his focus was elsewhere. He convulsed, tensing all over for the barest moment before he said, "Not worth sea travel, though."

"I have heard that rubbing the wrists can be helpful," Ferdinand offered instead of reminding Hubert that the alternative would involve flying over the snow-blocked mountains, which Hubert had absolutely refused to do. He lowered his voice to add, "If it was only a rumor, I will still have soothed your sweet wrists." Hubert handed his nearer hand over readily.

It helped a bit, which was to say: Hubert stopped retching helplessly every couple minutes, but he didn't get any less pale or unsteady. He did finally allow Ferdinand to help him belowdecks, though how Ferdinand could guide anyone anywhere while relying on a cane for his own stability was anybody's guess. He resumed massaging Hubert's wrists once the man had thrown himself onto one of the beds in their room.

"You don't have to do this," Hubert said after a few minutes more. "It isn't doing _that_ much, and you have other things to do."

"You sound like Bernadetta," Ferdie scolded. "Let me do something nice for you, Hubert. For its own sake."

"I proposed to Laura yesterday," Hubert said. He lay limp and helpless on the bed and his voice reflected his resigned attitude. "Her aunt and uncle took us to a nice restaurant. Am I betraying her?"

"You are always so dour when you get ill," Ferdinand scolded. "But no, with all the facts out in the open before your proposal, I would not call it a betrayal. She was completely capable of turning you down with no lasting shame for either of you. Especially in this moment, allowing someone to play with your wrists to alleviate your seasickness would never be a betrayal." He leaned down and kissed Hubert's forehead. "That might have been, though," he teased, and winked.

"How are you _not_ ill?" Hubert asked. "Unless you are simply putting on a brave face. I have seen you smile and joke while wounded…"

"I am simply blessed," Ferdinand told him with a shrug. "Or whatever the new, areligious equivalent is. Perhaps it is all that time spent on horseback." He would bet anything that it was the other way around: that he enjoyed his time on horseback because he didn't have the mysterious ailment that caused seasickness. He wasn't about to say so.

Hubert clearly couldn't think of an argument because he just groaned and lay still.

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert had not been exaggerating about his workload. Naturally, there were some things he had simply been unwilling to delegate because he was such a perfectionist, and Bernie made sure to do that first thing, but even with the new recruit taking over for her with Southern Liecester, Bernadetta knew it would take at least until the end of the Almyra trip for her to get a handle on things.

After she'd had her morning talk with Johann (things were actually going fairly smoothly in the Midlands, considering the year's weather; relief supplies were arriving on schedule, so there was very little unrest to report) Sandy, of all people, slipped into the room.

Her lavender pink hair was still cropped neatly to her jawline, and it still looked jarring with her long, elegant dress that didn't hide her sturdy shoulders. She shut the door and stepped forward to bow, saying, "Lady Aegir, I've come to ask-- your sister humbly requests-- Bernie, please help me. I don't know what to do."

She looked very upset. Bernie couldn't help but ask, "What happened?"

"Well, Ellie, she… And Mother… So, I have a penpal. Back in the Oghmas. We met at the joust this last year, where Mother got me the squire position this coming Spring. Her name is Daisy. And, um. Mother is… She usually pays less attention to letters than Father; you remember. Bernie, this is so bad; it's going to hurt so many people!"

"You have a penpal from the joust," Bernie mimicked back, trying to stay professional. She had no idea what Sandy was upset about so far. "What do you write about?"

"Well, that's the problem!" Sandy told her, suddenly much more agitated. "We haven't written anything wrong! But Mother says-- she thinks Daisy and I are… InvoIved. She won't hear me when I say otherwise. And Ellie's so upset and… well, and ashamed… She was working on a project for the Emperor before, finding justifications in Fódlan's traditions for people to marry whatever their gender, but this whole thing has her so upset, I think now she won't do it!" Sandy's eyes shone. She looked absolutely broken apart by the way things had happened. "And now Daisy won't know why I haven't written back, and the Emperor will have to decide whether she can move forward without the Ministry of Religion, and Mother is just… She gets so _mean_ , Bernie…"

"Sit down," Bernie offered, gesturing to the chairs she'd brought in from Hubert's office. "Of course I will help you; Ferdinand has been working tirelessly on the legislative side whenever he could spare time from his international case." Sandy sat meekly in the chair to Bernie's right. "For the letter, I can help you mail it," Bernie offered. "There are more options in the city; even if it is mailed without the Varley seal, she will not think you died." She tried a small smile and added, "Besides, if Daisy's parents are more permissive than Mother, you might be able to send sweeter letters that way."

Sandy looked down, smiling nervously. She had always been easy to read. Then Mother and Eleonora had been correct: they _were_ love letters. Bernie couldn't think of anything that should bar two young women from exchanging such letters.

"You will have to be sneaky about it," she pointed out. "Keep the letters on your person until you can send them. You are welcome to give her my address to send them to for safekeeping."

Sandy nodded.

"And, if you ever feel unsafe, of course you are welcome in my house," Bernie reminded her. "Say whatever you like. Say I am teaching you all the arts you will need as a lady before you leave for the coarser life of a knight. Say I invited you over for tea. But do come if you need to." She would double-check the security on her love letters and other secured items that evening; if Sandy had learned to fake sincerity in the years they'd been apart, Bernie was still determined to make the offer. She couldn't let down her baby sister.

"I will," Sandy promised. She didn't look up. "I'm sorry to make this your problem, with Duke Aegir away and so much on your plate--"

"Sandy, no," Bernie interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for. You were right to ask for help. As for Ellie's political decisions, I doubt I would be able to hold in my temper if I confronted her directly. Ferdinand is the statesman, not me. But I will be writing to Ferdinand and Hubert while they are in Almyra, and I have been in frequent contact with Her Majesty in private. Just knowing ahead of time what sort of move a person will make can help people prepare. There must be ample precedent; by asking the right questions, someone more skilled than me will be able to make Eleonora admit that her argument is based strongly on personal opinions instead of facts. You know I love her as much as you do, but as you said, such opposition would harm people. People like Miss Dorothea Arnault, who moved all the way to Brigid to marry Queen Petra MacNeary, and people like Dr. Linhardt and General Caspar, who had to leave the country to marry legally." And those were only people Bernie knew. People she could confirm. She couldn't be absolutely certain that Hubert would be happier in such a marriage, for example, but it was certainly not lost on her that he had found himself a fiance who would want as little intimacy as possible, or that his love letters almost always described her manner instead of her body.

It would especially harm people like Sandy, who were stuck in difficult situations despite knowing their feelings and could never have such an arrangement acknowledged by their families. Linhardt and Caspar had left for war and eventually returned married; perhaps Sandy would find herself in such a happy situation when she was a knight.

Especially with such a personal motivation to smooth a path for her own sister, what on Earth was Eleonora thinking?

"Thank you so much," Sandy said, ducking her head. "You don't know what this means to me."

"I never got to write real love letters," Bernadetta said, suddenly feeling like Sandy had bared too many of her own feelings. "Not until the War started. I know how difficult it is." She nodded to her sister. "I will say a few words into the right ears and ensure everything goes according to the Emperor's original plan."

Sandy understood the dismissal for what it was. Hopefully, she understood she shouldn't mention their meeting, but she was gone by the time Bernadetta thought to mention it. She wasn't trained in information handling; she was just a teenager with a crush on a pretty girl. She deserved to write some letters.

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert was barely off the ship when he saw the carriage waiting for him and said, "I refuse." He stood on the pier, swaying where he stood, nearly holding up foot traffic.

"It is barely half a day to Palomir," Ferdinand reminded him. "Would you rather ride a horse in the sun?" It was cold where they were, despite the clear skies, the damp cold of a port city that bored straight into your bones. Palomir, up on the high plains that fed into the mountains of Fódlan's throat, would be the dry, stark cold of a high desert, with the ground frozen below them and the sun beating down from above. "However we go, you will be able to rest overnight and have something to eat." Hubert had been subsisting on sips of water and small bites of bread for the past day and a half, and his cheeks looked more hollow than usual. Ferdinand decided to bait him. "I mean, if you _really_ want extra time to rest, there should be a wyvern mews nearby that can--"

"I will take the carriage," Hubert snapped. He stomped toward the offending vehicle.

It was a beautiful carriage. It made Ferdinand want to learn more about Almyran aesthetics. The base of it was ornately carved and cheerfully painted, and the top was enclosed with felted fabric in beautiful, bright floral and geometric designs. Ferdinand had never considered wool as a material for a wall, but in such a climate, he wondered if it wasn't easier to have a carriage whose top you could replace with light linen, just for sun protection, in the summer. He had certainly been in his fair share of stuffy carriages in the heat, and it seemed an ingenious solution.

Ferdinand handled the transfer of luggage and inspection of the letter the driver carried, complete with Claude's seal, and ensured that Minister Bergliez' carriage had also arrived on time, then he climbed in next to Hubert and they were off.

Truth be told, he had looked forward to this time to brush up on his Almyran, but the translator traveling with Minister Bergliez seemed very confident and, if nothing else, Claude would be able to understand them. Even with the gentle swaying of the carriage over sandy roads, Hubert's skin looked nearly as green as his eyes, so there was very little conversation out of him in Fódlander, never mind Almyran. Ferdinand rubbed his wrists and murmured encouragements, and he and the driver enjoyed a lunch full of foods Ferdinand didn't recognize while exchanging very few words. Instead, he described the food to Hubert, telling him how delicious his dinner was bound to be. He coaxed the man into eating bites of flatbread and pieces of tomato and cucumber from the salad. Hubert spent a good portion of the afternoon sucking on a couple of dried dates, insisting the sweetness helped, and Ferdinand wasn't about to argue.

They were travelling along a main road. Through the bustling port city, along riverside farms, and finally, to the capitol, seemingly etched into the side of a mountain. Palomir was grand from below, a sort of reddish-orangish-tinted stone with Almyran flags flying from the walls. The gates, when they stopped to have their papers checked, were carved with fantastical beasts and brave heroes. The grand buildings along the main road were made of that same orange stone, but painted or tiled with beautiful geometric patterns, and many of them had gardens visible beyond their outer gates.

The only gates they entered were the gates of the royal palace, whose name translated to something like The Palace of the Sun and His Child, which sounded much more elegant in Almyran. It was getting dark by then -- after all, it was Winter -- but Ferdinand looked forward to touring the lush gardens and pools in the daytime.

They were greeted by an official who exchanged brief words with their driver and the wagoners who followed behind, and then welcomed them in heavily accented Fódlander and led them through the gardens. Hubert was still a bit wobbly -- after all, being bumped around in a carriage could hardly help him recover from the ship -- and he leaned on Ferdinand's arm a bit. At this time of evening, all the light came from delicately carved lanterns along the paths. Count Bergliez tried to make some ill-thought-out snide comment to Hubert, some flower metaphor meant to make Hubert defend his masculine pride, but Hubert just threatened (in his most miserable voice) to be sick on him, which stopped the conversation completely.

The whole delegation together had been given a pavilion to stay in, which seemed roughly equivalent to a small wing of the Palace in Enbarr. It was spacious and sprawling, and it was hard to tell where the garden ended and the building began. Ferdinand smiled guiltily at Count Bergliez and said, "I think I should settle Marquis Vestra; he has had a very difficult journey and I expect he will want a quiet evening." Any evening they didn't spend with the Count would be quiet enough, but he wasn't about to say so.

Count Bergliez agreed, thank goodness, without any more snarky comments toward them. Ferdinand asked their guide to have dinner for two sent to the Marquis's room, as well as Hubert's luggage, and unpacking and such could wait for tomorrow.

.-._.-._.-._

It was all Hubert wanted to lie down with a cool, damp cloth on his forehead -- no, on his face, everything above his nose.

It was a lofty goal, he knew, but finally achievable.

He removed his jacket immediately when they were alone, hanging it carefully over a chair despite his haste, and as Ferdinand said something about lamb and rice and spiced tea, Hubert made a beeline for the bathroom, already unbuttoning his waistcoat. There was a great deal of good he could say for Fódlan's fashions in the proper context, but they were absolutely not designed for this climate.

With his lofty goal of dampening a handkerchief with cool water finally achieved, Hubert went to the bed, which was thankfully completely normal except for the design woven into the blanket; removed his shoes and stockings; lay down on the bed; and mopped the sweat off his face and neck. The world had not yet stopped rocking, but experience said it would, with time. He folded the handkerchief, laid it over his eyes and forehead, and let himself sprawl.

"How about some tea, darling?" Ferdinand asked, and Hubert heard his uneven footsteps come to his side. Heard a cup settle on the nightstand. He stroked Hubert's hair and added, "And there is a lovely herb salad. That will be very refreshing."

He felt like his stomach was rolling around inside his belly. His head ached after being bounced around in a carriage all afternoon. He groaned softly instead of saying why any food sounded awful.

"I will read the first two pages of my opening speech and then you will have a sip of tea," Ferdinand told him much too cheerfully. "I will return in a moment, my love."

Ferdinand left, probably to go to his own room, and Hubert enjoyed the silence.

Ferdinand took a long time to return. Maybe someone had misplaced his important documents. Hubert smiled a little at the huff Ferdinand would get into if that was the case. He entered Hubert's room with the soft shuffle of leather soles and Hubert heard him lay himself out on one of the low reclining couches. Were you allowed to call them chaises in Almyra? They surely had their own, non-Faerghan word for them. For all he knew, 'chaise' was a bastardisation of some extremely common Almyran word.

Papers rustled a few times, then a reasonable chunk of time passed, then the papers rustled several more times as Ferdinand said, "Time for a bit of tea, Hubert."

There was nothing about Hubert or his still-settling stomach that should have indicated he wanted to sit up or drink anything. He articulated this with absolute eloquence by saying, "Mmmmnh" and not removing the damp handkerchief from his eyes.

"You must return to the world sometime," Ferdinand said, those soft steps approaching Hubert's bedside now. "Just a few sips of tea, and you can resume your moping."

He considered being stubborn. It would certainly rile Ferdinand up, which was always entertaining, but it wasn't worth the effort to be really annoying, so instead, Hubert propped himself up enough to drink the small cup of spiced tea Ferdinand had left earlier. It was only warm, not hot, and it was flavored with spices that were, all told, pretty pleasant. He carefully lay back down; he'd spent the past few days dehydrated, so he was certainly not going to take things too quickly, but he'd started to cool down and the worst of the motion sickness had given way to a less severe unease, so he would probably be able to have a few bites of dinner.

He ached less the longer he lay still. Ferdinand brought him little cups of tea until he sat up and creaked his way to the table.

The food was good. Despite Claude's presence in the Palace, Hubert's poison test turned up negative. For Winter, there was an impressive amount of fresh vegetables and herbs, including the herb salad (herb and grain salad?) Ferdinand had promised.

Conversation with Ferdinand revived him. Conversation with Ferdinand always revived him. They tried to guess at what some of the foods were made of, like the bowl of… sauce? Spread? _Something_ thick and smooth and beige, topped with a sort of greenish substance that soaked into flatbread like an oil. There were too many other flavors to determine if it was made of beans, or some sort of starch, or even a vegetable they didn't know. Regardless, it was delicious.

There was too much food. Hubert ate lightly after so long feeling ill. When they were done, Ferdinand performed his opening speech, and Hubert's only feedback was that he should give it in front of the Almyran court in his waistcoat, since that was clearly his best look. Ferdinand laughed and kissed him and took a hard walnut pastry with him when he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just like that, I've split the party! I wonder what Hubert and Ferdinand will get up to without Bernadetta around… Hmmmm… It's a mystery………


	23. Flights and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta introduces Edelgard and Laura, takes charge of the Ministry of the Imperial Household, and pays a visit to her sister to see if she can sort out some family drama. Hubert and Ferdinand, in Almyra, help kick off the peace talks and get shown around by the Crown Prince. Minister Bergliez reconsiders his opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! With this chapter, we’re now on my document that I titled “Final” when I started it, because obviously I was so near the end, but now it's a hundred pages so I need a new final gdoc. If I need to take a hiatus in a month or so to get my writing in order, please know that it’s because I keep adding plot and I genuinely like everything I’ve written so far. I do know how the story will conclude, and I think I finally know which plot points I need to hit to get there, but who knows? Maybe I’ll end up adding in something that surprises me as much as the gay marriage arc did.
> 
> Also, I'm buying a house and moving to Seattle to live with my aging grandma, very near my sister and baby nephew! I'm super excited, but that also might require a hiatus because moving myself is hard enough; moving my grandma at the same time is going to be a task and a half. But I tend to write to relax, so who knows? Maybe I'll keep a regular schedule regardless.
> 
> If you’ve ever delved into the wikis for descriptions of the Insurrection of the Seven, you probably know I should have sent Duke Gerth, who’s the Minister of Foreign Affairs, to Almyra along with Count Bergliez. Maybe just assume that he’s there and I’m ignoring him because he isn’t as dramatic as the people he’s traveling with.

Despite her initial misgivings, it turned out that Bernadetta  _ could _ be friends with Edelgard. Between her abduction and all the more serious topics she'd focused on in her youth, the Emperor had never learned any domestic arts, so Bernie set out to teach her crochet. It was a good excuse for Bernadetta to come by in the evenings for the Emperor's current events update, and Bernie was very proud of herself when Edelgard asked her to introduce her to Laura.

It was no small task convincing Laura to come, but she came for an evening audience just when dinner was ending and Bernie was accompanying the Emperor back to her room. Bernie was maybe three stitches into her own mending work before there was a knock on the door and a lady-in-waiting brought Miss Navarre in to see the Emperor.

"Oh, please stand up," Edelgard said when Laura came in and curtsied. "Come sit with us. I've been dying to meet you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Laura said, and took a seat cat-corner from her.

"Edelgard, please," Edelgard said. "Lady Edelgard, if you must. Oh, please don't lower your eyes like that; you are the future Marquesa of Vestra. You will be Hubert's equal."

"But I am not yet," Laura pointed out. "I hope you can be patient with me, Lady Edelgard."

"If you want to know something," Edelgard said, "That temper I'm so famous for? It only comes out over two things: moral conflicts and my physician being especially frustrating. If Hubert likes you, you should have nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I um. I heard about your physician when I met Ferdinand," Laura said. She was so brave. Bernie hadn't been half as brave before she was married, to keep a conversation going with the Emperor, Herself. "He and Hubert described them as 'definitely a friend,' but also someone you want to punch after five minutes."

Edelgard laughed so hard at that, Bernadetta was scared she'd suffocate, or at least that the guards would come in. "You couldn't be-- more right;" she gasped out when she started to get her wind back. "That's them exactly!" Laura smiled at her successful joke as Edelgard recovered her composure. "They really are something! They've been dosing me with goodness-knows-what as part of their experiments and told me not to  _ bleed  _ for the next few days. Does that sound as strange to you as it does to me?"

"They must have their reasons," Bernie pointed out. "I know Ferdinand credits them with his survival; if they were not completely dedicated to your health, they would not have returned."

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Edelgard asked. "Not my health-- my crests. They were  _ obsessed _ with crests at school, stayed up for days on end studying them and then skipped classes to sleep. If I was just their friend and emperor, they'd still be out in the back of beyond with Caspar, but I've asked them to get rid of one of my crests and I conveniently have access to the best physician on the continent while they work on it. Okay,  _ what _ did I screw up here?" She thrust her crochet toward Bernie, who smiled. Edelgard was a very impatient student.

"Hubert told me they're doing an excellent job looking after you," Laura chimed in. "And annoying you to no end, which he seems to think you enjoy."

Edelgard flopped back against the couch cushions while Bernadetta looked for inconsistencies in her stitches that would cause her to mess up the pattern. "I guess," she admitted, but she didn't sound happy about it. "I think what it comes down to is: of everyone in the palace, there are only two people who can ever manage to make me do anything I don't want to. Hubert is one and Linhardt is the other. It probably is good for me, having someone I can't just order out of my way, but I don't have to like it!"

Bernadetta found the stitch she'd skipped, ripped the Emperor's work out to that point, and handed it back silently.

"Thank you, Bernadetta. And, on top of that, I'm trying to organize a surprise for them, but with my health the way it is, they're around me all the time, which makes surprises very inconvenient."

"Oh, that reminds me," Bernie said, trying to be subtle like Father had tried to teach her, "You may want to check in on Ellie; I heard she was having trouble with your project and might need some encouragement."

"Encouragement," Edelgard parroted, looking very suspicious.

Bernie nodded. "It would be a shame if she presented incomplete research on the cultural precedent for less traditional marriages in Fódlan. It would be smart to have someone check on her." That was her role, completed. She wouldn't confront Ellie and she certainly wouldn't confront Mother, but she was raising the alarm and ensuring someone less passionate than her was sent.

"I'll keep that in mind," Edelgard told her. "Anything else?"

"Very little. Though I  _ have _ heard tell of illegal wyvern breeding in Almyra…"

"That's enough out of you," Edelgard joked, grinning. "The talks are well underway. I've heard the opening speeches were very impressive, especially Ferdinand's. I'm really hoping it was a few overzealous officials lower down in the chain of command, and all the higher-ups are still committed to peace."

"I don't hear anything faster than a pigeon or wyvern can bring it," Bernadetta pointed out. "But Minister Bergliez has been doing this since we were small, and the Crown Prince seemed to want peace since before he even surrendered, so I am allowing myself to be hopeful."

"Hubert said he was keeping an eye on it since the Spring," Laura added. "If there are any excuses to be made for the Almyrans, he'll be sure to point them out. Nobody wants to go to war again, even over something as powerful as wyverns."

"My worry would be that the people who are in a position to make money breeding wyverns in peacetime are the same people who would be able to find profit in war," Bernie pointed out. "So I just have to hope their actions are condemned completely and that decision is taken away from them." It didn't feel that different from waiting at home during the War, honestly. There was much less chance Ferdinand would die, but what if he didn't succeed? Bernie knew who would be sent to battle if it did come to that.

.-._.-._.-._

The opening morning went well. Ferdinand's speech was excellent, and so were all the others. The King of Almyra declared his intent to reach a peaceful solution and closed the morning session so they could all have lunch. Somehow, in the afternoon, Hubert wound up lounging on the observation deck on the roof of the royal wyvern mews while Claude and Ferdinand did loops and tricks that looked extremely fun.

A woman in stamped green riding leathers and a full skirt so covered in beading and embroidery that it put Ferdinand to shame came up to the roof. Berry-pink curls peeked out of her sheer headscarf and her eyes were the same sparkling emerald green as Claude's, her skin much fairer than most of their hosts. She hadn't been at the talks or the luncheon, but she was unmistakable. Hubert stood to bow. "Queen Tiana," he said, and straightened. "How fortunate to meet you here. I was at Garreg Mach with your son. Hubert von Vestra."

The Queen of Almyra smiled at him. She certainly had a lot of presence. She moved in a way that suggested that every citizen of Almyra moved with her, her face showing the weight and the power of that responsibility. Lady Edelgard could do that, too, but only for short periods and only when she focused. "It is lucky," she agreed. "I'm glad to meet you; Khalid told me about you, back before the War started." She nodded to him and walked to the safety rail. She leaned against it and watched the wyverns. "He said you often studied together in the library." She had a perfect Liecester accent, Hubert noticed, before he remembered that she had been raised in Riegan, so of course she did.

"We had similar interests," Hubert said as he reminded himself that, although he hadn't corrected them at lunch, Claude was  _ Khalid _ here when he wasn't  _ Your Highness _ . "He was very enthusiastic about his studies. By all accounts, he was an excellent house leader." He looked at the wyverns, taking a couple absentminded steps forward, but didn't approach the edge of the deck. "I am glad to see my former schoolmate thriving as the Crown Prince in Almyra after everything that happened in Fódlan."

"There were a lot of disturbing stories right at the end of the war," Queen Tiana said. "I was raised Sothian, of course, but nobody seems able to explain how Archbishop Rhea was able to preside for so long with nobody noticing she never aged. I have so many questions about how only three dragons could pull off that sort of hoax, completely separate from all my questions about the fact that dragons created a vanity cult to honor Lady Rhea's mother and used it to keep my own people oppressed. I am sure the War was very difficult for you, but I do hope you feel the truths you exposed were worthwhile."

"I think they were," Hubert admitted. "And I work every day to ensure that our people can be proud to live in the united Fódlan we created. Will I see you at the talks, or only outside of them?"

"I have my own business to handle," Queen Tiana told him. "There is a whole country to run in the meantime." The wyverns chased each other, playing. Claude's -- Khalid's -- did a roll and a feinting fall and the Queen sighed and said, "That boy…" Hubert couldn't express his true feelings toward Ferdinand, but the way Ferdie's wyvern swooped after the other one made him feel a similar way. His stomach turned if he tried to imagine how it felt to be up in the air like that.

"Well," Queen Tiana said, looking casually over her shoulder at Hubert. "Think I should get up there and give them a run for their money?"

"I think they deserve it," Hubert said. He had no idea how good the Queen was on a wyvern, but the image of her chasing them, like ducklings or kittens that needed to be brought to heel, was very amusing, and Hubert's response made her laugh like her son, abrupt and uninhibited. He had her dimples.

"I can't imagine Khalid wouldn't offer, but I can help you get up there if you want," she offered. "There's nothing safer; horses feel frail and unsteady in comparison."

"I prefer to stay grounded," Hubert assured her. "Enjoy your ride."

They exchanged their final pleasantries. Hubert bowed and the Queen left. He went back to the lounging couch, far from the edge of the platform, and watched Khalid and Ferdinand. He watched Queen Tiana's wyvern launch itself from the patio in front of the mews, and go nip Khalid's wyvern's tail and lead it on a chase. Ferdinand's wyvern did a few more lazy circles and tricks before circling down and, finally, landing. As the wind settled, Hubert got to his feet again and went down the narrow staircase to the dirt floor of the mews.

Ferdinand was petting his mount's face and cooing to it like one of his horses.

"Such a darling, good boy," he was saying as the wyvern nuzzled its face against his chest. Well, against his torso. Ferdinand laughed and rubbed it somewhere around where its ear holes should be.

"Hubert, hello!" Ferdinand called as he approached. "I wish you could have joined us; it was so exhilarating!" He was  _ snuggling _ the wyvern. That was the only word for the way his arm was wrapped affectionately around its neck.

"I prefer to feel exhilarated from the ground," Hubert countered. "I did watch. And I met Queen Tiana before she went up to bother her son."

"He probably prefers a longer ride, anyway," Ferdinand said. "Wyverns are made for distance flying, not all those tricks we were doing, so a smoother ride will be nice for his Scheherezade."

Hubert vaguely recognized the name from when Claude had introduced them to the beasts. He had no idea how Ferdinand had memorized the name so quickly. Now that Hubert had the option, he was happy to stay well out of biting distance.

"Time to come in, good boy," Ferdinand cood in that high-pitched voice he used for dogs and horses. "You were so quick and agile for me, Alsaqro." The wyvern followed him inside readily, never even pretending to pull against its lead. Hubert followed at a distance.

"It was even a bit overwhelming for me," Ferdinand said as he removed the wyvern's saddle. The beast was clearly familiar with the process, and waited patiently for Ferdinand. "For the first couple minutes, I was laughing from the rush, the exhilaration. I was very glad to have such a secure saddle!" He grunted as he picked the thing up to put away. "But I did get used to it, after a bit, and had a very enjoyable ride." He picked up the wyvern's lead from the hook he'd hung it on and said the word Khalid had told them meant "bath" in Almyran. Immediately, the thing wriggled and jumped and pulled at its lead, making itself impossible to curry even if Ferdinand had wanted to. Instead, it shifted on impatient feet when they were outside the wyvern baths and was off like a shot as soon as it could go, rolling and splashing unpredictably in the shallow pool.

"It looked like fun," Hubert agreed as the wyvern bathed as messily and noisily as possible. "Flames, does he intend to splash the entire building? Is this how they assert their dominance or something?"

Ferdinand laughed heartily at that. "I think he just likes the water," he said. He looked very intensely at Hubert and added, "I know it is not for you, but I wish you could have gone up with us and enjoyed it. Khalid is a good host, but you are my friend."

Hubert was thrown for a moment before he remembered they were in a public place. Right. There could be a handler nearby, and while it was a good bet that only a few of the staff in the Almyran royal palace knew Fódlander, it was only right not to take chances.

"I would never give up my chance to mock you from afar," Hubert deadpanned. Ferdinand clapped him on the back and described how it felt to fly on a wyvern, and Hubert did appreciate that. He liked to read about pegasus knights, even though he could never be one for two reasons, and wyvern flight sounded very enjoyable. As Ferdinand described it, the wyvern was so light for its size that it could easily take commands from its rider shifting their balance. On the other hand, it was more than large enough to have the final say in where it went and how it maneuvered.

The lack of control had always sounded, to Hubert, like the most terrifying part of flying. But everyone, apparently including Ferdinand, said that was the best part: the total trust in your animal to navigate the air better than you ever could. Thinking about Ferdinand, a hundred feet up in the air, ceding control to an animal he'd only just met, made Hubert feel sick, but it had gone so well; Ferdinand had landed safely and his wyvern seemed happy.

"What are you thinking about?" Ferdinand asked once he'd described the flight to his satisfaction. They were watching Alsaqro bathe, still. Hubert didn't know how they were supposed to get the beast back into its stall when it was so enthusiastic about the water.

"Do you remember at Garreg Mach, the state of the men's bathhouse after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?" Hubert asked. Right on cue, the wyvern splashed him.

Ferdinand laughed. "We were all so messy!" he agreed. "And more than a little careless after so much exertion! I remember Lorenz was  _ horrified!" _

"Do you still keep in touch?" Hubert asked casually. "Not professionally, but personally; of course you keep in touch with the Governor of Liecester Province."

"Hubert!" Ferdinand smacked him lightly on the arm. "How could I not? And the personal and political are so often intertwined; his official statement on freeing marriage of its gender restrictions is very heartfelt. I can show it to you when we return home."

"Mmh." Hubert took a moment to mull that over. "You were close friends at the Academy. Did you ever discuss such things?" Alsaqro stood and Hubert realized too late that he was getting ready to shake himself off. The water didn't seem to bother Ferdinand, who just strode forward to hook the wyvern's lead on again. He willingly bowed his head to let Ferdinand attach the lead; he must have expected a treat when he returned to his stall.

"Only once," Ferdinand said finally, as he led through the straw-floored hall. "I spent most of my evenings with Bernadetta, and people do not usually discuss their fears during the day. For my part, I was hopelessly unaware of my own feelings, and even when I did realize that such attraction was possible for me, I was already happily married." He sounded wistful. He sounded like he was recalling happy memories. How strange. "How about you? Did you have a confidant you could talk to about those feelings?"

"I knew before that realization that I wouldn't be marrying for love," Hubert pointed out. He didn't even feel very bitter; it had always been a fact.

"Hubert!" Ferdinand stopped in his tracks. He scowled at Hubert. "You cannot say things like that! You are newly engaged!"

"Yes, to a very sensible woman," Hubert reminded his love. "Laura feels the same, from what I can tell. I… can imagine loving her familially easily enough. Like a sibling or cousin. I even think we'll get along very well, that way. But it will not be a grand passion, like you have with Bernadetta." In all honesty, it felt strange to feel attracted to a woman. He wasn't used to it. He'd never felt that way about any woman before, and didn't feel he could expect it to happen again, even for a woman as interesting and kind as Laura. He was only lucky that Laura didn't seem to mind.

"I know what you want~!" Ferdinand teased, and for a split second, Hubert thought he was talking to him instead of the wyvern. He pulled a piece of jerky from his pocket and held it up for Alsaqro to smell. The wyvern became visibly more excited upon smelling it, its feet shifting and its legs bending. Ferdinand unclipped its lead and opened the door of a stall with a word on it in Almyran and a picture of a bird. "Yeah, you want that? You want that?" He crouched into a more dynamic stance, dangling the jerky in front of the beast. The wyvern lowered its head and wiggled, its wings spread out behind it. "Oh, yes, yes you do want this! How about-- oh!" He feinted throwing the treat into the air and the creature's jaws snapped on nothing. That long row of sharp carnivore's teeth. "Goooo get the treat!" Ferdinand said as he threw the treat inside, and then closed the door of the stall as the wyvern leapt after it in a graceful, cat-like arc.

Ferdinand laughed as he checked that the stall door was properly fastened. "Who would guess that dogs and wyverns are just the same?" he asked companionably. "Dangle a bit of beef heart in front of them and they completely forget themselves! Do you think Alsaqro would be offended if he knew I had compared him to a dog? I have kenneled easily a dozen hounds in exactly that way."

"I think Alsaqro would put up with a great deal more than being compared to other animals if the comparisons came with more treats," Hubert told him honestly. Ferdinand led him back toward the front of the building and grabbed the saddle he'd used.

"I do wish you had been able to go up with us," Ferdinand admitted as he put the wyvern's tack away in its proper place. "I do feel that I know more about the beasts now that I have spent some time riding one."

"I have spent the same time watching them," Hubert reminded his lover. He had watched Ferdinand and the wyvern and Ferdinand's massive cavalier's thighs cutting dizzying loops through the air. It was enough. It had to be, since it was as much as Hubert would do.

There was a rush of wind and wings and cheerful squawking outside. Khalid came inside in his quilted riding outfit, leading a wyvern by a cord that matched his sash. He bantered with the beast in Almyran like an old friend, even though she could only respond in squawks and chirps.

"I'll just let her get all cleaned up," he told Hubert and Ferdinand as he looped her lead over the hook at the tack room. Even after a longer ride, his wyvern was spirited and cheerful. Hubert remembered the many times Ferdinand had told him that a contented horse was a sign of a good rider. "You really went for it, von Aegir," Khalid told Ferdinand. "Quite the first flight!"

"I figured I should learn as much as I can," Ferdinand said. He was still slightly flushed from exertion. "How else do you learn about such an animal, except by riding it?"

"And understand their needs," Khalid agreed. "It would be as impossible to curry a wyvern as it is to bathe a horse. But, when you see them bathing like birds, you immediately understand why a wyvern mews would have certain plumbing needs." He hefted the saddle off his mount's back and lifted into its spot in the same motion, then went to remove her saddle blanket as she shifted excitedly from foot to foot. He laughed and said something meant to calm her, from the way he caressed her long nose. It didn't seem to do much of anything.

Scheherezade yanked her lead out of Khalid's hand when they were still a few yards from the bath. He let her go, chiding her gently. Then he frowned a little and said, almost to himself, "She's been running too warm recently."

"Is that a figure of speech, or…?" Ferdinand asked.

"No, it's literal," Khalid told them. "Wyverns have cooler blood than horses, but they do overheat. Thus, the bathing." Scheherezade squawked from somewhere in the middle of the copious splashing noises coming from the bathing room. "You would worry if you went out for a jaunty little trot and your horse tired out. Probably her feed…"

"I would worry if I had to go out for a jaunty little trot," Hubert muttered under his breath. There was nothing good about riding a horse, and wyverns looked even worse. He would leave all of that to idiots who were incapable of the healthy fear he had of things that could kill him.

"You will have to excuse Hubert," Ferdinand said cheerfully. "The sway of the saddle makes him ill, so he rides only when absolutely necessary. I do see what you mean, though." He touched his mouth in thought. "Does their feed change as they age, as it does for dogs?"

"A bit," Khalid admitted. "It shouldn't do anything that dramatic, though… What do you think, Scheherezade?" He peeked into the bathing room, where the wyvern still splashed away. "Feeling like you're not such a Spring chicken anymore, girl?"

The wyvern chirped happily and Khalid laughed.

"Yeah, there's a good girl. Getting all cooled down after a nice ride-- shit, wait, it's already Red Wolf Moon!"

"What happens in Red Wolf Moon?" Ferdinand asked, enraptured.

Khalid rolled his eyes. "Well, she isn't hot from illness," he said. "She's hot for  _ boy wyverns. _ Maybe you'll see more of our operations here than you expected, if you stay long enough."

Ah. That made plenty of sense. "Is it a touch earlier than usual?" Hubert asked. He remembered Ferdinand's warhorse, calm and collected regardless of fire or loud noises, getting downright unmanageable at the smell of mares in heat. He'd been glad to stay far away from the cavaliers when it happened. He knew Wyvern Moon was named for the wyverns coming South to lay, but perhaps it was different in captivity.

"Later, actually," Khalid said. "She didn't seem that enthusiastic during what your lot call Wyvern Moon, but Winter came pretty late this year. We still haven't gotten a really good freeze." He opened his arms and his wyvern, still shedding water, barreled into him and started rubbing her head and neck against him like a cat. "Guess she just took a while to get in the Wyvern Moon spirit!" he said as he petted his wyvern much the way Ferdinand had earlier. He addressed the wyvern in Almyran again, in the same sweet tone as before, and led her away.

.-._.-._.-._

Bernadetta walked into the Ministry of Religion with her back straight and her head held high for her meeting with the Minister. She was sure Ellie at least suspected her of being the one who had gotten word out that the Ministry of Religion wasn't going to comply with the Emperor, so she was hoping to cast doubt on that whole idea. Failing that, she could probably still get the real story of why Eleonora was acting in such a hateful way, like their father would have.

Everything was more formal in the other ministries, where there was no premium put on as few people as possible seeing your face. Bernadetta introduced herself to Eleonora's secretary, who showed her into her sister's office.

"Bernadetta, come in," Ellie said, and her demeanor was friendly and calm. "I wanted to talk to you about-- well, you know what."

She did. She also wasn't going to admit that, so she thought back to yesterday's Cabinet meeting. "Oh, the forest access issue? I still don't quite understand why municipalities can't set their own forestry laws. The state of Adrestia's forests varies so much, after all." She took a seat. Ellie's guest chair was pretty comfy.

"...Oh. No, we do have extensive church records concerning how foresting rights were distributed, but that doesn't seem like your department. Bernie, you deal, more or less, in public opinion, don't you?"

"I suppose," Bernie said. Maybe she could try that technique Hubert used, where he let the other person construct an entire argument and its conclusion. And it was definitely true that the Imperial Household was concerned with public opinion as much as secrets.

"What do you think of the Emperor's project to change how marriage works?"

She thought there was international precedent. She thought there was broad support for it among Fódlan's leadership and general population. Most of all, she thought it was good and moral no matter what anyone else thought. "Why do you ask?" she asked instead of answering.

"Well, we don't talk much about it. But there are a lot of parts of Sothianism that people still cling to. It's only been a year and a half since the War ended. So, I was wondering if you knew how the people feel on this topic."

Bernadetta smiled a little and asked, "What makes you think Hubert's agents ask those sort of questions?" She really felt like she was on a roll; she hadn't said anything definite since entering the room, and Ellie was telling her so much!

"I think, with all these public statements coming out from regional and local government, people will get an earful whether they want it or not," Eleonora pointed out. "What I want to know is whether they report it."

"Our agents are instructed to report even insignificant-seeming details, if they come up multiple times," Bernie told her. It was, of course, more complicated than that, but true. She wasn't about to give her own opinion when it would probably end the conversation, but she wondered how long she could hold her tongue when rage boiled inside her.

"You know what I'm asking," Eleonora asserted, her tone forceful and definite. "Is this the Emperor's personal pet project, or does She do it with the blessing of Her people?" Her eyes were hungry. She looked so determined.

"I think you wouldn't ask that question if you didn't already know," Bernie said. She also thought what Eleonora "knew," in this instance, was wrong and hateful. That was for Ellie to figure out.

Ellie nodded. "Thank you for confirming it," she said, and Bernie felt a little thrill of success run through her. Now, she could be Eleonora's confidant. She could get the words straight from the horse's mouth. If she accomplished nothing else, that would be enough for today. "I actually… Have you heard about the trouble we've been having with Sandy?"

Oh.  _ Oh. _ This was the kind of news Hubert called 'too good to be true,' and she should tread carefully now. "Is Sandy giving you trouble?" she asked. "She always was spirited…"

"Not just that," Ellie told her. "She's been… exchanging letters… with someone she met at the Oghma Tourney. Only, the other person is a girl!"

Bernie's eyes widened in fake surprise. She fake-recovered and said, "Well. Young women often like to have a penpal…"

"Not those type of letters." Eleonora leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Love letters. Hopes for the future, of living and traveling together." She leaned back to sit up straight. "Mother won't let her send the letters at all, and she's been just impossible recently. Do you think you could talk some sense into her?"

It was time to put a small hiccup into the conversation. She couldn't seem to have anticipated this line of questioning. "Does she still plan to pursue knighthood?" she asked, trying to sound scandalized.

"She does," Ellie reassured her. "That's still secure. But, Bernie, you understand how bad this will look, if I give my dissenting opinion and then Sandy runs off with some  _ girl.  _ Please talk to her."

She would talk all sorts of sense into Sandy, and none of it would be that she should end her relationship. "I'll do my best," she promised. "How about a lunch meeting on Saturday? Is she still always in the best mood while eating?"

Eleonora smiled in very genuine-looking relief. "She is," she confirmed. "I'll arrange it. Thank you so much, Bernie."

"No trouble at all," Bernie assured her. "She's my sister, too. And she even had the good sense to stay shorter than me."

Ellie laughed loud and long at that. "You never let go of a grudge, do you?" she asked.

The comparison to their mother was grating, but Bernie wasn't going to abandon the goodwill she'd just built up. "Only on important topics," she joked, then stood up. "I have my work to return to," she said, and curtseyed. "Good day, Minister. I'll look forward to hearing from you soon."

She knew it was too soon to be certain, since people sometimes saw through you on later reflection, but she felt very smug, indeed, as she left Ellie's office.

.-._.-._.-._

They dined with Khalid that evening and it was positively intimate compared to the lunch banquet that celebrated the opening of the peace talks. When Khalid dismissed the servants, Ferdinand didn't know if that was an Almyran custom or if they were going to negotiate a deal. People often tried to reach agreements with him under the table, and he wondered what the Crown Prince of Almyra thought was better said behind closed doors.

The meal started, though, with all the regular things you did at a meal: water and wine were poured for everyone, and Khalid pointed out different dishes he thought they'd like, since he knew they didn't know much about Almyran food. Ferdinand promptly decided that he was going to eat about a dozen of the bean and herb fritters, propriety be damned. On Khalid's recommendation, he had it with fragrant yellow rice, fresh vegetable salad, and a variety of sauces.

"Oh, and mint chutney," Khalid added, adding a healthy amount to his own plate and putting the bowl down by Ferdinand. "You can't have falafel without plenty of mint chutney."

It sounded strange, but Ferdinand figured, if he could enjoy mint jelly with lamb, he could enjoy a different mint sauce with a different savory treat. He piled a tidy amount onto his fritter with the little spoon.

In retrospect, the little spoon should have tipped him off.

In moments, Ferdinand was doubled over coughing, turned away from the table. He heard Hubert's insistent, urgent voice saying, "What did you do to him?" and Khalid laughing. His mouth burned beyond what he’d previously thought possible.

"You scoundrel!" he yelled hoarsely as soon as he got his voice back. He reached to the middle of the table for bread, downed all his water in one go. Hubert was passing his hand over the food with a poison-detection spell for the second time that evening.

"Calm down, Hubert; it wasn't poison!" Khalid chided as Ferdinand enjoyed the small relief he got from eating bread and yogurt sauce. "It was a practical joke."

_ "What _ did you put in it?" Ferdinand asked, still miserable.

"Mint chutney always has chilis," Khalid told him as if he were the most innocent person in the world.

"Hubert, really, stop it," Ferdinand admonished, not wanting them to seem too distrustful of their host. "It was spicy; that is all."

"I couldn't resist," Khalid admitted. "I haven't done something like that since the Academy, and you just fell right into it!"

"I trusted you as my host!" Ferdinand countered. His mouth burned a little too much to laugh about it just yet. His eyes still watered.

"Nothing else should be spicy," Khalid told them both, gesturing to the table. "Here, have a dolma or two; they're delicious." Ferdinand watched him bite into one before he even touched one of the dark little packets.

The rest of the dinner, he had to admit, was spectacular. Khalid insisted his "joke" was only funny once, and the chefs at the Almyran royal palace were truly superb.

Finally, when he was getting full and they'd been talking about hijinks at the Academy, Ferdinand decided to open up the real conversation with, "Was there anything in particular you were hoping to discuss tonight?" He debated whether he had room for just a little more stewed eggplant.

"Well, now that you mention it," Khalid said, and winked. Winked!

Khalid leaned back a bit, not the most effective gesture when you weren't in a chair, and said, "I don't like the illegal breeding any more than either of you. A glut of subpar wyverns in our skies helps no one. So I've had some agents asking questions."

"Have they been successful?" Hubert asked.

"Oh, naturally," Khalid said, almost like he was startled into it. "And it will all be dealt with. But one interesting thing about peace talks is that nobody ever hears much about the aftermath, do they? They hear about the talks, themselves."

Hubert nodded. "So, you are looking for a quid pro quo so that we can preserve our image."

Khalid smiled. "Absolutely. Almyran problems will be dealt with by the Almyran government, as they should be, but how will the newly powerful Adrestian Empire look when the public deals are struck?"

"I suppose that depends on what you are looking for," Ferdinand pointed out. He'd heard every sort of request from all sorts of people, from his existing duties to actual treason. It could be that Khalid wanted something he and Hubert were completely capable of giving him.

After a pause, as if he were considering his words carefully, Khalid said, "When I visit my land in Liecester, at some point I'm always assumed to be a bandit, an entertainer, or both." He looked Ferdinand and Hubert in the eyes before continuing. "I'm degraded on my own ancestral land. And, at the Academy, it was very clear that the problems in Riegan are widespread over the whole continent. I'd like Adrestia to commit to actual, meaningful social programs addressing the way outsiders are treated and, sometime in the next year, I'd like to see a piece of legislation that codifies violence that's intended specifically to scare people seen as 'outsiders' as its own particularly vile, hateful type of terrorism."

"That seems a lot to ask for something you intend to do, regardless," Hubert said.

"It was a lot to ask for me to go to school with you lot," Khalid grumbled. "And, as you said, it's icing on the cake. The only question is how much you want to save face. ...And whether you want to live in a just society."

"Tell me about crimes against perceived outsiders," Ferdinand said. "Tell me why they count as terrorism instead of regular violence in the future you imagine for Adrestia." He got the feeling Khalid was infinitely more knowledgeable than him on this topic, having witnessed it firsthand, and he wanted to know about that word choice. Perhaps Khalid's demands already lined up with what they wanted to create for a better, more united Fódlan.

.-._.-._.-._

"I can't believe you," Hubert hissed when he and Ferdinand were finally alone again, after slamming a silence spell onto the door. "You can't just barter away our self-determination! Fódlan has just been united for the first time in centuries, and you want to ensure anyone with a powerful grandfather and a nice idea has full access to her law books!"

"I do not," Ferdinand insisted, and sat on a reclining couch to take off his boots. "I simply think he raised some good points. You were in the room when I told him I would do my own research! And you do not even pretend to deny that his ideas are good!"

"I simply think we should not seem so willing," Hubert groused. "The Locket exists for a reason. Almyra is powerful, and they will not become our ally because of a couple of good-faith measures between schoolmates."

"Do you think I am unaware?" Ferdinand snapped. His boots off, he stood and stomped toward Hubert, threatening despite his height. Hubert backed away instinctively, in the interest of not getting trampled. "Do you really think I believe our disagreements are all settled because of some words on a piece of paper, that I probably would have written someday regardless?" The backs of Hubert's legs hit the bed and he overbalanced and sat down hard. Ferdinand glaring at him from above was even more intimidating than Ferdinand glaring at him from below. "It is our job to mend bridges, Hubert. The border skirmishes at the Locket will continue, our trade will still be fraught, but if nobody takes steps like this, it will only get worse and bloodier in a never-ending cycle. I refuse to say that I could have helped, but was too proud."

"So you will sell Adrestia's law books to Almyra for good optics?" Hubert countered. He stood again, using his height to his advantage as he glared Ferdinand down. Ferdinand held his ground. "Are you so concerned with how people see you? Can't even have an unsuccessful negotiation with a country we aren't allied with?"

"Khalid is Prince of Almyra, but he is as Adrestian as you or me," Ferdinand reminded him. "As much as we would like to simplify, to say his Crest and his heritage do not matter because the land belongs to Adrestia and her people, you and I both know how slowly that land-claiming is going in reality. While Riegan is his, Khalid is one of Edelgard's subjects, and he has brought an important matter to our attention!"

"Crests and holdings!" Hubert yelled, throwing up his hands. "Sometimes, I feel like the only person in Enbarr who can think of anything else! He is the Crown Prince of Almyra, Ferdinand! He has the best interests of Almyra at heart, and it is not our ally!"

"We are not beholden to him for anything else," Ferdinand pointed out. "If he changes the terms, we will consider them anew, but he asked us to do something we want to do in return for him doing something he wants to do. Where is the harm? Or do you not think our greatest responsibility is to our most vulnerable citizens?"

"You simply never think!" Hubert countered. "The outcomes are good, so everything is just peachy, is that it? The outcome is all that matters!"

"I absolutely do not understand your resistance!" Ferdinand insisted.

"You have given Khalid access to our legal process! You are allowing him to write our laws for us!" Hubert reminded his lover. "He will forever think he can do that again, wheedle a very significant concession out of us because he made it  _ convenient!" _

"Do you really think of it as a concession?" Ferdinand asked. He looked absolutely enraged, but his voice was calmer than before. "What do you think we are conceding, Hubert? If a citizen with no foreign ties brought this issue to my attention, I would look into it just the same. How have I conceded anything?"

"And the rest?" Hubert challenged. "You would dedicate my resources, the Empire's resources through your new, fancy public education system, to further the Prince of Almyra's goals? What if word gets out? No-- word always gets out. What if it happens inside the next five years? What will you do if people say their charismatic, personable Prime Minister has turned out to be a shill, a conduit for foreign interests to be fast-tracked?"

"You are not responding to the central question!" Ferdinand argued. "I am not interested in who proposed it or what other citizenship he holds! I am only interested in whether the cause Khalid asked us to pursue is just and timely, and it definitely is!"

Hubert felt like he was burning, like he was being consumed by a fire spell. "The cause is immaterial!" he argued. "You can say no and release the legislation the week you come home; the important thing is not to let the Almyran government feel they have control over our legislative process!"

Ferdinand yelled in wordless disgust and disengaged from being locked chest-to-chest with Hubert to go pace. "The cause is the entire point!" he ranted. "You cannot deny that he has a right to Riegan Duchy through his mother, which makes him a sovereign citizen of Adrestia! Nor can you deny that the issues he brought to me, his own Prime Minister, are timely and, I would even say, essential! I will not allow the possibility of looking like an Almyran shill for a moment to keep me from doing what my heart says is right for Adrestia!"

"You will burn the rest of us to the ground with your eagerness!" Hubert snarled. "All of us -- me, Edelgard, Bernadetta, every person in the Cabinet. Your carelessness will--"

"Tell me to my face that Khalid von Riegan is not an Adrestian citizen!" Ferdinand howled, and suddenly he was in front of Hubert, he was in his space again. "Tell me I have no obligation to him and I will reevaluate." That was beside the point. A duchy he barely cared about in comparison to his position as Crown Prince did not delegitimize his claim to Adrestian citizenship, but it did call his allegiances into question.

"You cannot paint everybody with such a broad brush!" Hubert told him. "Good or bad! If a person in my department is Adrestian and also a gambler, I have to assume their allegiance is to whoever they are indebted to. If a person asking me to plant an idea in the public's minds is Adrestian nobility, but the Crown Prince, Ferdinand, not any nobility, but the  _ Crown Prince of Almyra, _ the most generosity I can afford is that he probably wishes no harm on Adrestia because of his ties there. But who knows if this idea was even his? Who knows if someone with more sinister motivations, who thinks loyalty to Almyra includes hostility to Adrestia, has been whispering in his ear about it? On the surface, everything sounds good, and the fact that he seems to want us to do our own research and implement these goals in our own way suggests goodwill. But is there something more concrete he is trying to divert our attention from? Is this simply an attempt to set a precedent by asking something so agreeable that we see no reason to refuse? Khalid plays the long game, Ferdinand. He did at school, and it worries me that I have no idea what his future goals are now."

"Even somebody who has a different end goal can do good in the meantime," Ferdinand said, and his voice had come down to the same volume as Hubert's. He sounded almost tender. "I am not trying to convince you that the Prince of Almyra cares only about Adrestia. But I cannot figure out why an agreement that I would look into the issue he raised, which affected him when he was in Adrestia, living as an Adrestian, with no obligation to act unless I find the facts line up with his claims, is so upsetting to you. If the issues are as pervasive as he claims, then he has helped us to see reality more clearly. If he claims he has us wrapped around his finger, I, at least, will have a paper trail of interviews and statistics to show that, even if he did bring the idea to my attention, my work and my decisions are my own and are by no means under Almyran power."

"And how will that look to a layperson?" Hubert challenged. "Lots of fancy papers and figures they can't make heads or tails of, done at the behest of the Prince of Almyra."

Ferdinand sighed. "People think what they want to think, Hubert. I would not blame them for being skeptical even as I hoped they took my efforts in good faith. I will not show a pattern of taking foreign input, since Khalid is Adrestian until he renounces his land or the Empire successfully negotiates for it. There are people who will pounce on any chance to see me shamed and deposed, just as there were people who saw rebellion against the Church as an enormous land grab. In the meantime, I will do what I believe is right for Adrestia, as I have made no promises to comply with Khalid's wishes in future and I see only good in both the legislation he proposed and in ensuring all our citizens are treated with dignity and respect."

"You know I agree with the actions you plan to take, but you should not have agreed to his deal so easily!" Hubert reiterated. "I will not debate you on the merits of his plan, because as far as I can tell, it  _ would _ be good for Adrestia. But you are not immune to social contracts, Ferdinand; if he asks you for something reasonable again, and you see no reason to refuse him, then what happens when you have traded favors back and forth and he asks for something you are a bit less comfortable with? What happens when the task is loathsome, but the reward is great? This is how people lose their power, Ferdinand: they get in over their heads and, before they know it, scandals pile up that they never thought were scandals at all. I have seen it happen, and I refuse to let it happen to you!"

"Have you orchestrated such a downfall?" Ferdinand asked. If Hubert weren't burning with rage, Ferdie's tone would have chilled him to the bone.

"I have not. But I witnessed my father give that last little push, the dispersal of documents into just the right hands, that toppled the House of Nuvelle when he considered them 'too dangerous.' When it happens, it happens too quickly for any countermeasure to work, and your name is disgraced forever and your allies quietly turn their backs on you when you need them. I think you need a lot longer than a dessert course to consider whether working with Khalid is 'mending bridges,' or whether it gives him power over you that you cannot afford for him to have."

Ferdinand's shoulders fell. "I will sleep on it," he promised. "I am… relieved you agree that the actions, themselves, are justified. I do not wish to fight with you, Hubert, but just as you do not wish to seem beholden to a foreign power, I do not intend to shrink away from a good idea just because it was presented to me in Palomir." He leaned forward, but where before he had been asserting his willfulness, now he was soft and affectionate. "I will not abandon my people, and I hope you will always put their collective good over my personal good."

Hubert wasn't up to kissing and making up. Anger still burned in his gut. But he leaned forward a little, to match Ferdinand. "I still think it is a mistake," he admitted. "I think, when you are investigating the validity of Khalid's claims, you will have to be very careful to investigate Khalid's interests and advisors. I think looking diplomatic and successful on an international stage is important, but it cannot cost you your integrity."

"And it will not." Ferdinand pulled back, took Hubert's hand in both of his. They were both wearing gloves. "This is not my first negotiation, Hubert. I have never allowed anybody to convince me to do something I did not want to do. If I find that Khalid's argument has no merit, I will abandon it completely." He tried to put a hand on Hubert's face, but moved it to his shoulder when Hubert flinched back. "Your job is to know what the dangers are, Hubert. To defend us against unknown threats. I have nothing but respect for that. But, Hubert, a Prime Minister needs to be liked. He needs to be able to take advice and still make his own decisions." His thumb rubbed over Hubert's collarbone. "Please trust me: nothing Khalid asked for was unwarranted and he did not ask for it in a way that gives him the control you are afraid of. It was normal and reasonable as a request from one politician to another."

Ferdinand was deluded. He didn't even understand what Hubert was trying to tell him. His eyes shone with sweet sincerity. You could get drunk off those eyes. It only rankled Hubert more that he had openly admitted that Ferdinand's opinion was right, as much as an argument centered on short-term outcomes could be, but Ferdinand had made no such concession to Hubert. He felt the tingle of magic around his fingertips.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, and when he pulled away, Ferdinand let him go. "If I'm not back in an hour, I've been kidnapped." He slapped the spell he'd put on the door as he left, deactivating it, and heard the paper slide to the ground before he shut the door.

It was selfish. That was what it was. Ferdinand had never learned how to be anything but Adrestia's golden boy, the knight in shining armor, the flashy Prime Minister bringing peace and public education to all. People ignored it because he was so charming. But Hubert wasn't so easily charmed. It took more than wavy ginger locks and eyes full of stars to pull the wool over his eyes. Ferdinand insisted that he wasn't walking into a trap, but he had no way to know. He simply didn't listen.

Hubert nearly walked right into Count Bergliez, who was sitting in a dark corner of the sprawling palace garden.

"Minister, excuse me," he said when he caught himself. "I didn't see you." A pathetic excuse. He simply hadn't been looking around himself.

"Good evening, Minister. Have you heard the astrologers say the stars look different here?"

It was something of a jolt from the topic Hubert had been thinking about. "I think it came up in some older magic books," he admitted. "Is it a big difference?" He looked up. There was Loog's belt, and his sword next to it. Just like normal.

"I can't tell. I don't think I'm very good at stargazing." When Hubert looked, though, the other man hadn't stopped looking up. "My report on the military impact of the marriage bill is ready," he mentioned, as if it were a casual topic and they were friends.

"What are your recommendations for Adrestia?" Hubert asked. He didn't want to do this. He'd been trying to be alone. He knew the answer, but still knew it would disappoint him.

"I will refrain from making a recommendation."

It took Hubert a moment to realize what the man had said. When he did, he looked at him, as if his face in the darkness would reveal that it was a joke. But Count Bergliez kept looking up at the stars.

"I hadn't expected that," Hubert admitted, and sat down as he returned to stargazing.

"I think the things I thought I knew were wrong," Count Bergliez told him. Hubert wondered what he'd done to gain his confidence, if it really was as simple as a dimly lit corner and a clear night. "Or incomplete, at least. My Caspar has all the traits I say I admire -- he's decisive, strong-minded, manly in every way. I don't understand his marriage, but I know he looks at the Hevring boy the way I looked at my Lydia, all those years ago." Hubert's fingers twitched as he carefully said nothing about Linhardt's gender. "From what I can tell, this change is an inevitability, no matter what I think about it."

"The Prime Minister thinks of people's lives like stories," Hubert said, looking at the stars to keep the anonymity of darkness in the hope he wouldn't scare the Count off. "When I told him General Arnault was going to be Queen-Consort of Brigid, he reminded me of her youth. Orphaned and hungry, building her fame by singing and her wealth by bedding a patron whose identity is still unknown." He smiled a little as he remembered Ferdinand's delight. "He saw a very fortunate transition from bedding a man for money to marrying a queen for love. I think, in his eyes, it only created a better and starker contrast."

There were a few seconds of silence before the Count said, "Forgive me if I overstep, Minister, but this legislation… It will go very close to the Emperor's heart, won't it?"

"Of course," Hubert confirmed. "Two of her closest friends had to leave the country to marry. The Margrave Gautier and his consort have a relationship marked by uncertainty partly because of their inability to marry. The Edmund succession hinges on the permanence of Miss Goneril and Miss Edmund's relationship. Throughout our empire, it would bring political and personal peace to a great number of people."

"Mm… And it has nothing to do with that Professor Byleth you all loved so much?" he probed.

"You are ascribing a very selfish desire to a very public need," Hubert said as he tried to figure out if he was supposed to see more in the stars than just a lot of stars. Was he supposed to try to make pictures out of them?

"What is a public need, but a selfish desire experienced by a great many people?" Count Bergliez asked. "My abstention is selfish. I love all my children, and I will not speak out against Caspar's choices. But I don't want to seem so malleable that I change my opinion because of my own child when others have deserved the same right for far longer. Tell me, Minister: have you had to make any decisions like that yet? Where your opinion changes, but you've stated it so many times you can't bear to pull a full about-face?"

The muscles around Hubert's heart clenched and he didn't know why. "I have often changed my opinion when I received new information," he said. He felt vaguely ill.

"I thought I did, too," Count Bergliez told him. "But this is a larger change than I've made before. Or perhaps it matters more. I think, in a decade or so, I'll look back and think it was silly not to take a stance, but it's what I can offer right now."

"I'm sure the Emperor will appreciate your contribution as much as I do," Hubert said. "A lack of opposition is still valuable, for such a divisive topic."

"Now we just need to get this peace deal moving, and we should be able to present it not long after we return," Count Bergliez pointed out. "You went to school with Prince Khalid, right? Did you know him?"

"A bit. We both studied chemistry," Hubert admitted. "I was actually going to ask you the same, as someone who's dealt with Almyra so much more than me, since any impressions I have of him are outdated at best. What do you think of his character?"

"I think he's new," Count Bergliez told him. "There isn't much to tell. He seems friendly, but whether that translates to seeking a good outcome for everyone, it's anyone's guess. I highly doubt he would turn on Adrestia altogether, though."

"Because of Riegan?" Hubert guessed, feeling more than slightly ashamed that it was Ferdinand who had raised the topic with him initially.

"Yes, exactly. If he planned to renounce his ties, it would have made sense to do it at the end of the War. But he led a war on Liecester's behalf and helped his grandfather retain the duchy, so he clearly has some amount of affection for Adrestia. I'm interested to see what he'll suggest at the talks tomorrow."

"And the King?" Hubert probed. "Anything I should be especially aware of?" He had his own intelligence, of course, but how did the Minister of Military Affairs see him?

"Nothing that you don't know," Count Bergliez said. "Friendly, but a keen negotiator. I could elaborate on his life story, but it won't be relevant at the talks. I just hope our Prime Minister will be a good match for him."

"The Prime Minister and I had dinner with the Crown Prince tonight," Hubert pointed out. "He seemed as angry as us about the wyvern breeding, though for somewhat different reasons. If he shares that opinion with his father, we may actually get home within the month."

"What a relief that would be," Count Bergliez agreed. "And you have a wedding to plan when we return, don't you?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Hubert groaned. "If it was me and her and some friends in a church, it would be bad enough, but my mother's sisters have promised to help plan it. I've been considering eloping just to avoid the crowds."

Count Bergliez laughed at him, as most people did when he told them about the plan. "If you tried, they would only make you do it again for an audience of family members," he advised. "You would move up the timeline, but you would still have to satisfy your family. They approve of the engagement, then?"

"They would approve of my engagement to a piece of wood if it had the legal status of an Adrestian woman," Hubert told him. "I reached the 'please find anyone eligible' age during the War, and they couldn't very well bother me about it then." This time, he joined his fellow Minister in laughing at the joke. "Miss Navarre really is a lovely woman," he confirmed, to be especially clear that his feelings about  _ getting _ married were different from his feelings about  _ being _ married. "Still celebrates St. Cichol's Day, but I suppose most people do."

"They'll figure out something else to call it," Count Bergliez promised. "Give it a couple more years. Everyone needs a Winter holiday with lots of fire and good, rich food. If the new Minister of Religion's any good, she'll get the holidays renamed sometime in the next decade or two. They won't stop eating pies and singing carols, but they can do it for reasons other than the birth of Cichol."

"I've worked on this for half my life," Hubert pointed out. "Ever since Edelgard returned. A society where crests and status don't matter. I fought in a war for it. So did people across the continent. I can't help feeling the change is coming too slowly."

"If the change is too fast, you get a civil war on top of the continental one," Count Bergliez reminded him, as if he didn't already know. "You're bringing thousands of people along with you, now, and they all need time to think things through in peacetime. You don't get to pick and choose the most dedicated anymore. I know you liked to get snippy with the late Count Varley, but rededicating the churches and monasteries as community centers was an inspired touch. People still go there every Sunday, plus twice or thrice a week. The good priests still give sermons about relevant issues, and the bad ones have mostly been deposed without the Church's power behind them. You couldn't change the weekly ritual of watching a speech and singing together and chatting into the afternoon if you tried, but it's been made secular in a way people can accept."

"I'll suggest these things to the current Minister when we return," Hubert promised. "You raise some good points. I haven't gone to church since I was a child, so I barely thought about that impact."

"Vestra always was a miserable old thing." Hubert startled, which just made the Count smile. "I know, I know, we got along politically. I do agree with a lot of what he did, that I knew about at the time. I just fail to see the point of power and money and all that if you don't use it to enjoy yourself sometimes. Go to church, do the holidays, all that."

Hubert had never really liked large gatherings, and not just because they were logistical nightmares. But he understood what the Count was saying.

"I think he thought my mother would do that sort of thing," he admitted. He'd never found a conclusive answer to whether his mother had died of childbirth complications, or whether that was a cover story designed by his father. He'd always wondered if other members of the Seven knew, but it was such an old question, and such an irrelevant one now that Hubert's father was dead, that he didn't really expect any answers.

"I suppose it isn't for me to tell people how to raise their children, anyway," Count Bergliez said. "Still. I always felt that children learn what they're taught. If you don't teach them how to enjoy themselves, it can take a while to catch up."

"Now you sound like the Emperor," Hubert joked. "Or the Prime Minister. Or the Royal Physician, or the Queen-Consort of Brigid, or the--"

"I get it, I get it! But really, Minister, you hold the third-highest rank of anyone in the empire. You need to work hard, yes, but you're allowed to take a step back and enjoy it."

Hubert wasn't sure when they'd stopped looking at the stars and started looking at each other.

He'd heard this appeal from people he liked much more than the Minister of Military Affairs. If it was Ferdinand or Edelgard saying it, he would tell them he was doing what he could with the excellent, hard-working staff he had. If it was Bernadetta, he would say he just wasn't quite ready to loosen the reins yet, but he was working on it. In response to Dorothea's letters that encouraged him to "lighten up" and "let loose a little sometimes," he always wrote about recent trips to the opera or coffee breaks with Ferdinand. But, to a fellow Imperial Minister who'd as much as admitted he thought Hubert had been robbed of a decent childhood, he didn't know what to say. He finally settled on, "I guess I have a little more catching up to do." Admitting to any inadequacy was foreign to him, and felt horrible, but it did make Count Bergliez drop the subject.

"Well. Spend more time with my Caspar and you're sure to figure it out," he said, and clapped Hubert on the back like they were friends.

"I should get going," Hubert said, and stood up. "I have some thinking to do, so I was taking a walk. Thank you for inviting me to look at the stars with you."

"Any time. Be sure to rest up for the negotiations tomorrow," Count Bergliez told him, and Hubert bowed and continued on his walk.

He lost no time thinking over what had happened. He'd gotten substantial, if not complete, confirmation that Khalid von Riegan didn't wish any ill on Adrestia. He'd gotten advance notice of the Minister of Military Affairs' stance on universal marriage. And, somehow, he was on friendly terms with a Cabinet member he didn't even like. He'd gotten no information about his mother's death, but he hadn't expected any. What a surreal conversation.

Eventually, he returned to the pavilion where the Adrestian delegation was staying. He took a deep breath and knocked on Ferdinand's door.

The door opened in a matter of moments on Ferdinand in a dressing gown. It was red and brown brocade, beautifully subtle by candlelight.

Ferdinand glared at him and said, "I do not want to talk with you right now."

"I have good news," Hubert assured him. "A concession."

Ferdinand rolled his eyes and opened the door for Hubert.

"I happened upon Count Bergliez in the gardens," he said, staring very determinedly at the furniture instead of at Ferdinand. "Out of curiosity, I asked him about Prince Khalid and his loyalties. I think it's only fair to say that your line of thinking checks out and I still have a lot to learn about the motivations of high-level politicians." He finally dared a look at Ferdinand's face.

Ferdinand didn't smile, exactly, but the new wrinkles that were forming next to his eyes deepened and he sighed. "Go to bed, Hubert," he said. His voice was very warm. "I predict we will have a very successful day of negotiations tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a fight so well before. I'm so proud of me. (:
> 
> I do think people change, even when they, themselves, don't expect to. I don't think they do it often, and it usually happens after causing a lot of pain, but it's not impossible. I'm writing about these characters over a period of less than a year, and even though it's an eventful year, it's still a relatively short time and they're dealing with the aftermath of a war that changed the political and economic structure of their entire continent. It's hard to do a lot of soul-searching in those conditions! But that doesn't mean that even the people who I portray as more rigid won't eventually change their opinions, just that they aren't doing it right now.


	24. Meeting with Sandy and Spicy Hubernie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta meets with Sandy. When Hubert comes home, weeks later, she meets with him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, another Bernie-centric chapter! She's an Acting Minister for the entire continent and she just doesn't have time to be mousy and shy right now!
> 
> I've been doing my best not to put much extraneous stuff into this fic because, frankly, it's already long enough, but that does come across a little weird with the time jump in this chapter. Just know that Ferdinand and Hubert were in Almyra for a little over a month, getting all the fiddly legal details of the agreement ironed out, and that there's no way for me to write that out AND make it interesting. So I didn't -- they just come home, Ferdinand with an aching leg and Hubert feeling ill, and Ferdinand and Bernadetta fuck like rabbits for at LEAST a day and a half, and then she goes to check on Hubert and raise his spirits a little.

Half a year ago, reserved and frightened, wondering if she was cut out to decode messages, Bernadetta would never have dreamed that she would very soon have a nightly arrangement to do fine arts with the Emperor of Adrestia. Tonight, they were embroidering, Edelgard trying a simple pattern on the sleeve of a nightdress and Bernie putting a quick border on a neckline that could use a little perking up. "I heard you went to talk to your sister," Edelgard said, starting their nightly check-in off with a bang. "Did you manage to resolve some of the tension between the two of you?"

"You could say that," Bernie told her. "She hasn't changed, but at the end of the conversation, we agreed that there was a lot I could teach Sandy, so I'm going to see her at least once a week from now on."

Edelgard frowned at her work. "But, if her opinion hasn't changed, then how did you…?" She jolted to look at Bernadetta, and Bernie jumped.

She smiled a little at the attention. She looked Edelgard in the eye long enough to acknowledge her, then looked down at her work again. "Hubert taught me that, sometimes, if you don't disagree with someone, they think you're actively agreeing with them," she said. Her heart beat faster just thinking about that conversation. "I don't think I ever actually lied; I was just very vague about my opinions."

"Our very own double agent!" Edelgard crowed. "Hubert's going to be so proud when he finds out what you've been up to!"

"Oh… It isn't really Imperial Household business," Bernie deflected. "The stakes aren't high for anyone except me and Sandy."

"Then it's good practice," Edelgard said. "Either way, you did a great job and it was for a good cause. No reason to shoot yourself down." She pulled her hand back from her work and sucked on one of her fingertips, like she'd pricked herself.

"I guess so... Was it wrong to trick Ellie like that?" She was Bernie's sister as much as Sandy was, even if they did have different opinions…

Edelgard just shrugged. "She was going to keep Miss Sandy from sending any letters at all," she pointed out. "Once Miss Sandy is safe, you can tell her whatever you want. It's a little white lie."

"She's one of your Ministers of the Cabinet," Bernie pointed out. "Don't you want… I don't know… For her to be more certain before she makes that sort of assumption?"

"You're her big sister," Edelgard reminded her. "If Hubert seemed to agree with me on something, I'd trust him implicitly. Oh, I really got myself, didn't I?" She pulled out a handkerchief as she sucked on her finger again.

"Um… Didn't Dr. Linhardt say not to bleed, before?" Bernie asked. Was that overstepping? Surely, Edelgard knew the most about her own health…

"Shit. Nadia!"

The door opened. "Your Majesty?" one of Edelgard's ladies asked.

"Get the Royal Physician. Tell them I'm bleeding-- no, tell them I was stupid and didn't listen and now I'm bleeding; they'll like that -- and it's no rush, because it's only a pinprick, but they do need to come."

"At once, Your Majesty," the lady said, and curtseyed and left.

Edelgard smiled at Bernadetta. "Hey, if I'm lucky, all the Crest of Flames blood is leaving my body right now, right?"

"Um…" Was she supposed to offer a healing? Would that be stepping on Linhardt's toes? Would a healing not do anything for an injury that wouldn't stop bleeding even though it was so tiny?

"Oh, don't worry, Bernadetta; they knew I'd screw it up eventually. If it was that important, they would've been more careful about it. Jeez, have you ever heard of a wound that won't stop bleeding? I feel like I've had stab wounds that clotted faster than this."

"I'm so sorry," Bernie told her. "I should have thought of it. Of course you can't think about every single thing you do in a day."

"Nah, it's fine; just a little--"

"No, really, it was a huge oversight from me as your friend." Bernadetta bowed her head forward. "You told me they said that and I forgot it just because of my own troubles."

"Well, you  _ have _ had a lot on your mind…"

"But it's no excuse to be so negligent!" Bernie looked up at her emperor. "I should have-- I should--"

"Bernadetta, please calm down," Emperor Edelgard told her. "Really, it isn't a big deal. It's alright. Even if they take an hour and it doesn't close up by then, I'll lose, what? A teaspoon of blood? That's nothing. I lost more than that to nosebleeds as a child. Tell me more about your sisters: will Miss Sandy be safe when she goes to her squireship in the Spring?"

Bernie still felt deeply unsettled and horribly responsible, but she said, "Um. Yes. I think. I haven't actually asked, but she seems so excited about it…"

"Excellent! Just a couple months to New Year, and in the meantime, you can help her send her letters."

"Are you really sure you're alright?" Bernie probed. "I know Dr. Linhardt's coming, but…"

"Oh, just fine. Just a little needle prick. Has she told you anything about her sweetheart? I remember being her age and getting crushes on girls…"

"I think I'll hear more about it at tea," Bernie said. "I didn't want to ask for details, in case it scared her off. But I'll ask when we talk about love letters."

"Um… If she seems discreet to you… Like she won't tell Minister or Lady Varley… You can tell her that even the Emperor of Adrestia keeps the teenage love letters of the current Queen-Consort of Brigid." Edelgard's pale skin flushed as she admitted it. "That it's perfectly normal for girls her age to fall in love and send letters."

"Miss Arnault wrote love letters to you?" Bernadetta asked, stunned.

"And I wrote them to her," Edelgard confirmed. "They were very straightforward, nothing you'd expect from an opera singer. Sometimes, I even hope she still has mine, a neat little stack of them in red or white or lavender ribbon. Despite it all, I'm still very happy for her."

"Even though you saw each other at school every day?" Bernadetta asked. "Or was that when you were on campaign?"

"There are things you say differently in letters and in person," Edelgard pointed out. "Do you and Ferdinand not write each other letters? Notes, maybe?"

"I never thought of it," Bernie admitted. "We wrote during the War, when he was away all the time. I know we both write back and forth with Hubert, but that's… It's different when you sleep under different roofs."

"Well." Edelgard smiled a little dreamily. "Garreg Mach had an awfully big roof."

The door burst open, startling Bernadetta. Dr. Linhardt rushed into the room, their hair braided like they'd been getting ready for bed. "What did you do?" they asked, honing in on the finger Edelgard was holding her handkerchief to. White threads of light glowed gently around her hand, just for a moment. "Didn't I tell you not to bleed? Didn't I tell you not to-- embroidery? Really? You thought  _ that _ was a good example of a safe--"

"Do you plan to finish your tirade any time this century?" Edelgard asked, possibly just to interrupt them. "That's a very broad order; of course I was going to make a mistake at some point."

"You aren't bruised anywhere, are you?" Linhardt asked, almost as panicked as a moment ago. "No stubbed toes, no midnight bumps against furniture?"

"I'm fine, Linhardt. Just tell me your paranoia is worth whatever this medicine's supposed to do."

"It's supposed to deactivate your crests," Linhardt told her. "Only while you're taking it, but studying your blood that way should help me remove one. I think I'll be ready to try in… two months? At the earliest." They tried to run a hand through their hair, but cringed and pulled their hand out when they remembered it was braided. "This is only for a few more days. I think. A week at most. If you get a little cut, like that, go ahead and heal it yourself, but if you get a bruise, or if you can't see any bruising but feel bad, call me immediately, okay?"

Edelgard smiled tightly. "And you didn't say this when you gave me the medicine because…?"

"Because I stayed up for two days making it and I was exhausted," they countered, and sat down next to her. "It hasn't given you any unexpected side effects, has it? Dizziness, nausea, anything that really makes it unpleasant?" They leaned toward her, their hands on her face, inspecting her eyes, her ears, the underside of her jaw...

"What, aside from the fact that a needle prick didn't stop bleeding and I'm not allowed to stub my toe? I feel fine, Linhardt." Linhardt drew back and peered at her. "...Ish. Fine-ish. As good as I ever feel."

"If you really felt fine, I wouldn't be here," Linhardt grumbled. Their hands left Edelgard's face and took her wrist. "Your pulse is good. Strong." They rested their hands in their lap. "I don't mean to hover; I just… Do you remember, in the War, when I told you you weren't allowed to die?"

"After I had been very foolish, as I recall," Edelgard said, smiling. "What about it?"

"It still stands." They looked at Bernadetta, acknowledging her for the first time since they'd entered the room. "You'll make sure she doesn't do anything irreparably stupid, won't you?"

"Um--!" How should she respond? She couldn't just call the Emperor stupid, but who was she to deny the Royal Physician when they made an appeal for the Emperor's life? But--

"Oh, don't bully her, Linhardt; you know she doesn't get it when you're rude for show."

Linhardt rolled their eyes, but said, "I know," and reached out to touch Bernie's shoulder affectionately. They jolted and stared for just a moment before saying, "Oh, but, um… You might want to speak to me tomorrow, Acting Minister."

Edelgard grinned. "Linhardt! Are you actually attempting to be subtle, for once?"

"I never attempt things, El; I just do them." They stood, looking much more elegant than they had any right to with bedtime hair, and left the room saying, "Call me for a real emergency, but until then, take care and stay alive."

The door opened and shut. A moment later, Edelgard giggled and said, "Jeez, they're such a character. Any idea what they want to talk to you about?"

"None," Bernie admitted. What could a healer tell with a touch that she, herself, didn't know about? "They've always been a bit strange, though."

"A lot strange," Edelgard agreed. "Ugh, I do feel bad for getting them out of bed, though…"

"They'll live," Bernie reminded her. "And, if a regular healing is fine, I can help you if you get yourself with the needle again."

"Oh, right, the letters!" Edelgard said. "Yes, tell Miss Sandy that anything a young man might write to a young lady belongs in her letters with-- did you tell me her sweetheart's name?"

"Daisy," Bernie said as Edelgard returned to her embroidery. She wasn't worried about rumors spreading from the woman who was trying to legalize universal marriage.

"Tell her nothing she writes to Daisy is crude or unseemly if she writes it sincerely, with love. That there will always be people who think her feelings are too amorous, and that she and Daisy both deserve to be courted as ardently as any woman, and they are the only ones who can make that happen for the other."

"I will keep that in mind," Bernie promised. "And I will try to repeat it as closely as I can."

“She’s very lucky, you know,” Edelgard told her. “It gets lonely. I’m glad she has an adult she can talk to. I only had Hubert, and you know what he was like back then. Like he was allergic to feelings.”

"And he wasn't an adult," Bernie agreed, instead of pointing out that she'd considered him absolutely terrifying.

"Exactly," Edelgard agreed, smiling warmly. "He was as comforting as he could be, but we were peers. You're older than your sister, and Lady Aegir, and the second-in-command of the Ministry of the Imperial Household. You're much more able to guide her."

"I'll do my best," Bernadetta promised, looking down bashfully. It sounded like so much when Edelgard said it all at once like that. She really wasn't as special as all that.

"I feel I should thank you for taking care of Hubert, too," Edelgard added. "You and Ferdinand and probably also Laura. He sleeps more, now. It isn't much, but it's something."

"Ferdinand said he used to faint sometimes from too little sleep," Bernie said. She hadn't been with them on the warpath, but she could only imagine Dr. Linhardt's reaction.

"Yes, exactly. He's capable of pretending to be alright on barely any sleep. He puts the façade up just fine. But, as his friend, I still worry about him."

Bernie nodded. Worrying about Hubert was probably something she should do more often. It wasn't that she didn't care; they had just gotten started at such a busy time that it had fallen by the wayside. "Ferdinand worries over him," she pointed out. "He is very attentive."

"Yeah, it takes a village, right? To bully Hubert into taking decent care of himself?" Edelgard joked. "I've definitely noticed the difference."

Bernie looked down. She still didn't know what to do when the Emperor complimented her. She asked how Edelgard's embroidery was coming.

.-._.-._.-._

Sandy arrived at her house on Saturday just a couple minutes before 12:30, looking nervous and small. She'd walked from Varley House down the road. Bernie had been overseeing their lunch arrangements, so she was ready when Sandy came into the parlor.

"Miss Sandy Varley to see you," the housekeeper said, and Bernadetta thanked her as a dismissal.

"Sandy, I'm so glad to see you," she said as she pulled her sister into the room. Noting how upset she looked, she added, "I can barely imagine what it must be like for you in that house."

"Eleonora said you were the right kind of person to get all these silly notions about Daisy out of my head," Sandy told her. She looked like she could cry. "Why did you say you would help me? Why did you lie?"

“Oh, Sandy. Here, come sit down.” Bernie led her to the couch. “I never lied to you,” she told her sister. “I said the right words so that Ellie would let you come visit me. I don’t mind pretending a little, as long as you’re safe.”

“And I made you do that,” Sandy added, looking down. She seemed more upset than before.

“You have never made me do anything in my life,” Bernie countered, putting on her bossy Big Sister Voice. “If anyone made me do anything, Ellie made me do it by being so mean to you! I just can’t believe her! Anyway, all you want to do is write some love letters to a nice girl; you’re hardly starting a continental war.”

“Bernie, the walls have ears,” Sandy reminded her.

Bernie smiled. She knew exactly who in her house was a spy, and had seen the young lady upstairs just a minute ago. "Oh, we pay very well to ensure they don't," she reassured her sister. She stood up, though, just to be sure, and walked mostly-silently to the other side of the room. As she'd suspected, there was no one in the entry hall. "Nope! No one here. Remember, I'm clever enough at these things to be Acting Minister of the Imperial Household. I do know a trick or two." As she sat next to her sister again and smoothed her skirts over her lap, she added, "I actually found someone who gossips just this week, but she was sent by one of Hubert's people, so unless you want to talk about affairs of state instead of your very pretty girl in the Oghmas, I don't think she would care very much, even if she did listen in."

"You tricked Eleonora," Sandy pointed out. "How do I know this isn't another trick?"

"Oh, you don't," Bernie assured her. "If I were in your situation, none of the proof I can give you would be enough for certainty. But Ferdie has been working tirelessly on the universal marriage bill, and Hubert is going to come out strongly in its favor, and I've even started getting close to Edelgard recently, who started pushing for it in the first place -- she sends her best wishes, by the way. So, if I really am working against you, I certainly have found myself a terrible group of friends and allies, or else I'm just fiendishly clever."

Sandy considered her argument for a few long seconds before saying, "You're different. You're nothing like you were."

"Except that I still love my baby sister very, very much," Bernie corrected her. She stood up. "Come have some tea and pastries and I'll tell you what the Emperor said about love letters."

.-._.-._.-._

It was Hubert’s prerogative to come home in a State, with sparse words -- none of them good -- for anyone unfortunate enough to talk to him, and hole himself up in his house as if he weren’t in the City at all. It was Bernadetta’s prerogative, despite doing his job while planning the St. Cichol’s Day festivities for her household, to visit him personally and catch him up on everything he needed to know.

“I’ll be in on Monday,” he griped as he descended the stairs to greet her. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to take more time for myself?”

“Yes, but I fixed that for you,” Bernie jabbed back. She was getting good at witty retorts. “And a lot has happened that wasn’t worth writing about, but that I think you’ll get very excited over, so I wanted to give it to you a few days ahead. Are you feeling better since the journey?”

“Much better,” he conceded, and waved her into the parlor. “Anything to drink? I have some apple brandy you might like.”

“I’ll take apple brandy,” she agreed, and went to sit in an armchair, her skirts spread neatly around her, the notebook she’d taken to carrying perched on her lap.

“What do you mean, you ‘fixed’ something?” Hubert asked as he poured them drinks. “Edelgard wrote you’d been busy, but she wouldn’t write about what.”

“Oh, I fixed your overwork problem,” Bernie told him cheerfully. She ignored his incredulous look as she told him, “There was a good amount that I was able to delegate, and I doubt you’ll be able to get most of those responsibilities back. It was the only way I was able to manage without wearing myself down, the way you do! You’ll just have to burn the midnight oil working on your wedding arrangements, instead.” She smiled sweetly as Hubert glared.

He took a sip of what Bernadetta knew to be Daphnel whiskey. “Tell me more about how you’ve sabotaged and undermined my power,” he encouraged. “I’m all ears.”

“Oh, then you’re going to love this,” Bernadetta said, and checked off the first mark on her list,  _ Tell Hubert he’ll have less to do now. _ “You see, I was having some very strange problems with one of my chambermaids. She was getting on just fine, and doing her work, but she seemed to have the strangest schedule.” Hubert looked down at his glass, a very subtle tell that he was hiding something. “I could never manage to figure out where she was, even when I asked my housekeeper. So I had her help with the marketing one day, and looked through her things like you taught me, and what would you know? She was a Srengi spy! But then I thought: No. If a Srengi spy was living in my house, Hubert would have told me. Hubert would have known. So I dug a little deeper, one day when she was helping with the laundry pickup, and what do you think I found slipped in near the back page of her pad?”

“I can’t say I have any idea,” Hubert told her, though he was doing a truly miserable job of hiding a smile.

It was no matter; Bernie was beaming by then. She was very proud of herself, and he was clearly proud of her. “I found a letter in one of our codes, written by the Parrot to my little Srengi spy about how to act convincingly Srengi,” Bernie told him. “And none of her letters from Sreng were remotely recent. So I had a little chat with Weston, and told him to please find someplace else for his Ferret to go. He played dumb for a bit, but we worked it out.”

“I had hoped things would be how I left them, did you know that?” Hubert asked.

“Things were not workable the way you left them,” Bernadetta informed him. “Your job was impossible, my spy situation was obviously going to go sideways sometime, and most importantly, Edelgard was never going to be the way she was a month ago.”

“Did something happen?” Hubert asked. The change in him was immediate, from pleased amusement to serious concern. “She never writes to me about her troubles; what happened?”

“We became friends,” Bernie told him. “Hubert, not everything that happens to Edelgard is bad. All I meant was that we became closer when I started reporting to her in the evenings.”

Hubert very carefully and intentionally relaxed again. “So, aside from sabotaging my power as Minister and my spy network, what else have you gotten up to in my absence?” he asked. He was smiling and holding his glass thoughtfully against his mouth.

“I did something Edelgard thinks you’ll be very proud of,” Bernie told him. “My sister Sandy told me she was writing love letters with a young lady in Oghma, and that my mother and sister are… unhappy with that turn of events.”

“I know the type,” Hubert assured her.

Bernie had a sip of her brandy. It really was very good. “I couldn’t bear to think of her, completely friendless in that house, unable to send or receive love letters. So I had a little chat with Eleonora, and at the end of the chat, she agreed that I would be a good influence on Sandy and we should meet weekly, if not more.”

Hubert paused just like Edelgard had, just like Ferdinand had, digesting her words. Bernie had some more brandy. “How did you come to that agreement?” he asked, instead of cheering her on.

“I did what you taught me,” she told him. There, that should stroke his ego. “We talked about the topic, and I never disagreed with her.”

Hubert didn’t look happy, though. He looked upset. “It’s my fault,” he told her. “We need to talk about limits more. That’s my responsibility.” He looked her dead in the eye and said, “I’m so sorry. I never meant to tell you to double-cross your own sister. If you felt you had to prove something, or that I would be proud of the skills you used, I…” He shook his head. “It’s my fault. Please believe that I never would have asked that of you.”

“Can you not imagine why I would  _ want  _ to double-cross my sister?” Bernie asked. “She is her own woman, Hubert. She thinks that my friends shouldn’t have married, the one who is always cheerful and kind and the other who is saving Edelgard’s life. She thinks Miss Arnault and Lady Petra shouldn’t marry. She thinks my own baby sister shouldn’t send sweet letters to another teenager somewhere in the Centerlands.” She could feel herself starting to shake and rested her glass on the arm of the chair. Ellie’s betrayal had cut her deep. She couldn’t understand it, no matter how much she thought about it. It made no sense. “Don’t apologize for Eleonora’s cruelty, Hubert. You were never responsible for it.”

"Very well, then. Um. You were in the middle of your story. You reached this agreement with her, and then what?"

Bernie smiled. "And then I have had Sandy over for lunch once a week ever since, and made sure her mail goes through. And I have been good and kept in mind that she could be telling me a story and doing something else, to the extent that I left some of my sensitive documents at the Palace the first time she came over, but even if she is playing a trick, my quarrel with Ellie still stands. And I know it is not Imperial Household business, but it  _ is  _ my first double-cross and I am very proud of it." They'd been very clear that her first work as a spy had been years ago, when she opened the gates to Varley Township to the Black Eagles immediately after their success at Garreg Mach, thanks to her parents' unwillingness to tell their town guards about family unrest. But she did think this was her first spy work since she'd joined Hubert's Ministry.

"Perhaps it does nothing for the Ministry of the Imperial Household," Hubert told her, "but it was still helpful to me and to Adrestia's future. If Minister Varley's position seems to be backlash against her sister, it will be easy enough to dismiss her out of hand. That context will take weight from her argument."

"And Sandy will have a safer transition into becoming a squire," Bernie added. That was the most important part!

"Yes, and my beloved's baby sister will be safer," Hubert agreed. Bernie startled a little at the pet name even though she knew Hubert had all sorts of safety measures in place to prevent his staff from repeating anything to anyone. "Tell me more about which work I won't have to do. What in particular have you taken away from me?"

"I will show you when you come in," Bernie told him. "Despite what you might think, everything is perfectly orderly and just the way you left it, just with a few little tweaks here and there." She had another sip of very nice brandy. "And Stacey sorts the mail now. Everything else really will have to wait for Monday or a time when we are truly alone." She didn't want to make him nervous about his work, firstly, and secondly, that would give them a nice excuse to be alone together.

"Here, come upstairs and we can discuss it," Hubert told her smoothly. That was more like it! A month without her husband OR her lover was much harder to bear now that there was no war!

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert showed Bernadetta upstairs, checked for prying eyes in the hallway, and led her into his bedroom. With only one resident in such a large house, most of his servants' duties were downstairs, anyway, so it wasn't too hard to get some privacy. She waited in polite silence as he activated the room’s silencing spell, then joked, “You called me your sweetheart in your parlor and now you put a silencing spell on your bedroom."

"One word of praise is much less noticeable than what we intend to do," Hubert pointed out. He rushed toward her and took her face into his hand. He’d missed her. He kissed her cheek, desperately hoping she still felt what he felt, and when she turned her face upward to kiss him on the lips, he didn’t stop himself from moaning.

They continued that way for some time: sloppy kisses, his hands feeling every inch of her torso, her hands slipping under his layers, warm and delicate and  _ fine  _ in a way Ferdinand’s large, calloused hands could never match. When it felt like only the two of them existed in the world, Bernie said, “Take me to bed,” and the timbre of her voice betrayed the state she was in. Her voice was throaty, halfway to a moan. He had only heard her speak that way in the middle of intimacy.

"Are all your preferences and such the same as before?" Hubert asked as they both started removing their clothes, stumbling slowly toward the bed as they did.

“No,” Bernie said simply. She was already breathing hard, but she was grinning. "Before, I asked you not to… when you were inside me. You are entirely welcome to now."

Hubert frowned. That didn’t sound right. "You are certain?" he asked. "I know, before, you said it was to ensure you only had Ferdinand's children." There was so much else he was happy to do. There was so much more he would refrain from to lie with Bernadetta von Aegir.

“I’m sure,” Bernie told him, looking cheerful, as she shed her petticoat in a crumpled pile on the floor. “You won’t get me pregnant right now.” She stepped toward him and turned to face away from him.

That… wasn’t right. He couldn’t parse what she was saying. “I know there are times when pregnancy gets statistically unlikely, Bernie, but I don’t think we should take chances with this,” he told her. There were all sorts of ways to tell whether pregnancy was likely or unlikely, but Hubert wouldn’t risk Bernadetta having a dark-haired child and he wouldn’t risk her health when she was clearly already willing to risk it frequently. His waistcoat joined her outer layers on the floor and he reached over to untie and loosen her stays.

“Hubert,” Bernie said, smiling. The nape of her neck was so elegant with her neck craned forward. Silken purple hair parted over her long neck. He could see the rounded nub of her seventh cervical vertebra and the gentle dip of her spine between her shoulder blades. “How are you the one who always tells me to listen?” she teased. “Do you need me to spell it out? You won’t get me pregnant.” When she turned around, her hand was on her belly, the way women gestured when they--

Oh.

Bernadetta started wriggling out of her stays as Hubert tried to put a coherent thought together. “Because you’re already…” he said, and she nodded.

He sat down on the bed, just barely, just because he didn’t want to give away his mental state by sitting on the floor. Questions clamored through his mind about her previous pregnancies, her easy demeanor, her plans. “How do you feel about that?” he asked, because it seemed like the best question to start with.

“I talked to Linhardt,” she told him, looking perfectly normal and calm. She braced her foot on the bed next to Hubert, but he couldn’t focus on the show of her removing her stockings. “They said I am a grown woman, and perfectly healthy, and there is no reason why it should be particularly dangerous for me. And they referred me to a specialist." Her voice sounded just slightly tearful as she added, "Ferdinand is insufferable, of course."

"For once, I believe Ferdinand has every right to be insufferable," Hubert told her. He reached over to thread gloved fingers through her hair. This was what she had wanted, right? To have a child without undue fear. "If I could be more public about it, I would be, too. You have my most heartfelt congratulations." He kissed her forehead gently. She was so precious to him. She was precious, period. 

Bernadetta sprawled out on Hubert's bed as he finished undressing. She was truly a sight: dainty and petite, her skin a cheerful peach-pink against the stark white of the sheets and her shift, the gentle mounds of her body draped so, so loosely in soft, nearly sheer white fabric. Best of all, she looked like she belonged there. She watched Hubert shed most of the rest of his clothes, until he was in his shirt, not so terribly different from her shift, and his gloves. He mounted the bed and positioned himself over her. He barely managed to say, "You are divine" before he kissed her again. She usually wore no scents, or whatever she wore was too light to stick around for long, but right now, as Hubert's mouth explored the soft skin of her throat, she smelled green and floral and just a little bit spicy. In the dead of winter, she smelled like a garden.

“Make all the noise you like,” he said into the crook of her neck as she made soft, mewling noises. “I want to hear you at your loudest. The spell will cover it over.”

“I’ve never-- never just been loud before,” she told him, and wrapped her legs around his waist and ground up into him.

“Would you like to try?” Hubert asked, and kissed under her ear.

“Make me moan,” she commanded. “Kiss my mouth. Make me scream.”

Hubert was hardly one to deny her when she was telling him exactly what she wanted. He kissed her mouth with a hand cradling her head. She grunted and moaned as he kissed her with all the longing he’d built up while he was away and rutted against her.

He pulled his head back when he felt her pull away. She looked  _ delectable, _ her lips red and wet, her eyes focused only on him. “Your gloves,” she panted, and then, as if Hubert hadn’t frozen up at her words, “I want your hands on me.”

He fondled one of her breasts, and the two layers of fabric between his (withered, grayed, deformed) hand and the loose, soft skin of her breast meant his hand slid smoothly over it. "You know what dark magic does," he reminded her. "Your shift is so fine. I wouldn't want the fabric to catch."

She kissed him and lay back on the bed, panting. "I can take it off," she said, smiling.

"But you look so comfy," Hubert protested. Kissing down to her jaw and her neck, he added, "So pretty and soft underneath me."

"My skin is very soft," she said, her head tilted up to give him even more room to kiss her elegant neck. Her hand was in his hair. "Would you be able to feel how soft it is?"

"Bernie, I don't think-- you wouldn't want--" He had to fix this. He couldn't just let her continue and see him stammering, blushing, nervous. Why was she so intent on mocking him?

"I've missed you for a month," Bernie said, and her hands reached down, pulled him closer by the small of his back while her legs pulled his hips closer. "I haven't missed your gloves. I've missed  _ you." _

He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to  _ do. _

"Hubert?"

She frowned and cupped his face in her hand, her soft hand, her peachy, smooth hand. "I didn't mean to upset you." She smiled a little and added, "Your skin on my skin would feel so good."

She knew what they looked like. She had to, right? She had treated other dark mages in the War. She had seen Hubert's hands at her father's funeral, of all places, and treated them like nothing out of the ordinary. She had seen and touched them when Hubert had joined her and Ferdinand, that one time.

"I won't stop you," Hubert told her. That was about as brave as he knew how to be on such short notice. "But, if you want me to put them back on…"

"I want you to touch me," Bernie told him. Her smile was like sunlight to him, but not overwhelming like her husband's. You couldn't help sharing in her happiness when you saw that smile. She reached for Hubert's neck and undid the button there.

"I think I'd like to see everything you want me to touch," Hubert teased. He slid a hand under her shift, onto her hip. He rolled off of her, to rest at her side.

Bernie took the bait. She said, "I'll… just have to show you, then," and knelt on the bed and hiked the hem of her shift up to her hips. She made a great show of taking it off, every gauzy inch of it, pulling it up slowly and teasingly until it was over her head and thrown on the floor with their other underthings. "Now you," she told Hubert.

"Come take it," he taunted. He held the hem of his shirt out toward Bernadetta, who laughed and dove forward to feel up every inch of his torso (with no shortage of compliments for his physique) as she removed it.

With both of them naked, Bernadetta kissed his shoulder and trailed more kisses down his arm. As she got near his wrist, she tugged on the fingertips of Hubert's gloves and he… didn't resist.

And then she did something beyond fascinating.

Bernadetta von Aegir kept Hubert's glove in one hand, and he was more aware of it than he'd like to admit. As she kissed his right wrist, she held his hand loosely in hers. Her eyes were open. Squeezing just a little tighter, she kissed each of his knuckles, letting out a soft hum of contentment. She had to feel the texture of his skin on her soft fingertips, her gentle lips. She had to see the charcoal color of his hand.

She slipped his index finger into her mouth.

Hubert wouldn't have believed in her enjoyment if he wasn't looking at it in real time. She had never been a good actress. She licked and sucked at his withered finger like it was candy, and any objections Hubert should have had were lost to the sight of his lover, looking thoroughly debauched even though they'd barely started, thirsting for his own magic-scarred finger. He could feel the heat of her mouth, the smooth slickness of her tongue as it played with his dessicated digit. He slipped his middle finger into her mouth, too, and she moaned and treated it the same way.

They sat like that for minutes, both of them enthralled, until Bernie pulled Hubert's fingers out of her mouth, sucking the spit off of them on the way, and surged forward to latch her arms around Hubert's neck and shoulders and kiss him.

The skin of Hubert's wrists was nearly as bad as the skin of his hands, but the texture was… more like skin. His left hand, still gloved, clutched Bernadetta to him, but he kept his right wrist bent so she could feel his arm pulling her close, but not his hand. It only seemed polite. He barely ever put his hands on  _ himself _ without gloves, so he certainly wasn't going to scratch up Bernadetta's skin by being careless. If she wanted him to get handsy, he could introduce her to his kid gloves that had been specially tailored to keep all the seams on the back of his hand.

They sank onto the bed, Bernie on top of him, her hand on his jaw, his fingers tangled in her hair. She pressed her hips against his erection. The sounds that came out of her were sweeter than music.

She reached behind herself and pulled his hand flat against her shoulder blade before he could think to resist. He stroked down her back with the softer skin of his wrist; how could he mar such precious skin? He wouldn't want to scratch her.

"Hubert," she gasped, his name sounding sweet on her lips. She kissed him again, like too long between kisses would suffocate her. "Touch me."

He tightened his fingers in her hair, then loosened them and caressed her scalp. His mouth wandered across her jawline and up the side of her face, and she obligingly tucked her head down against his neck. After a quick peck on his jaw, she said, "I'm serious. Touch me."

"My little spitfire," Hubert said. Ferdinand was energetic, but that was his usual state of being; Bernadetta's energy came in bursts. He moved his left hand from her head down to her shoulder. "How should I touch you, sweet?" His hand skimmed down her back. He grabbed her ass. "Would you like my palm to rut against, my thirsty little flytrap? Or would you like to be handled with a little more care?"

"No,  _ Hubert,  _ you aren't listening; I want--" she reached behind herself again and pulled his bare hand flat against her back, but she held it there this time, even though it bent her arm awkwardly to reach there. She kissed Hubert's lips again. "I want  _ you," _ she said again. "Touch me."

"I don't think," Hubert stammered. What could he say? What reasonable excuse could he make to deny such a simple request? "I don't want to." His voice sounded small. This wasn't a side of himself he wanted to show his lover. Why was he so  _ bad _ at this?

"Oh." Bernie sat up and grabbed his glove from where it had fallen on the bed. "I didn't realize," she told him as he put his glove back on. "I think they're handsome. They match your hair."

"The… texture of them," Hubert said, struggling to articulate why he couldn't mar her skin by touching it with his hands. "Your skin is so soft. It isn't suitable." Why did he have to be naked for this? At least they were both naked.

"Why should I mind the texture?" Bernie asked. He couldn't tell if she was flushed from exhilaration or blushing. "Do you have another pair of hands you were planning to touch me with?" Her hand played with his forearm.

"Have you ever used dark magic?" he asked, and silently resigned himself to the end of a good relationship.

Bernie shook her head. She cuddled against him and said, "I don't have the talent."

"It's… bad," he admitted. "Faith healers report clear skin and good circulation from exposure to the magic. Dark magic is the opposite. It hurts you on the way to your enemies."

"So does all battle magic," Bernie reminded him quietly. "Your lightning scars can attest to that."

"Lightning is natural," Hubert pointed out. He wanted to shrink in on himself, close himself off from her, but it was impossible while she lay on his chest. He felt exposed. "Dark magic is… It's different."

"Looking at them reminds you of the War?" Bernadetta asked sympathetically.

"What? No," Hubert responded. How was she so far off the mark? "They were like this before, if not as bad. I want you to see the parts of me that are still real."

Bernie frowned and propped herself up to look him in the eye. "I don't understand," she told him. "They're your real hands, right?"

"They're not-- It isn't like I had them amputated and replaced," Hubert said. "But, over time… I mean, you couldn't call them human hands." It was the cost of his magic. Your humanity faded. It was very well documented: even good, kind people were turned hard and cruel when they pursued dark magic.

Bernadetta was frowning at him, just slightly, the way she frowned at difficult ciphers before she brought them under her command. "For someone who told me never to make assumptions about people, you are making very large assumptions about me," she accused. She lowered herself down and lay on him again, one hand on his chest, the other on his face. "Can I show you?"

"Be my guest," Hubert said.

She kissed his chest. "Here is your human heart. One of the softest I've encountered." She brushed her thumb up to his collarbone. "Up here is your subclavian artery, pumping your human blood from your soft heart all the way…" Her hand ran down his arm and nestled against his hand, their fingers interlocking. "...Down through your radial artery and into your scarred hands. It is the same sweet blood, Hubert."

She really believed what she was saying, it was clear. It would feel bad to disappoint her. "The blood is the same," he agreed. "The hands are… not what they were."

"On the surface," she argued. "If you only go skin deep, they're pocked and scarred. They feel brittle and tough, and I'm sure you've lost feeling. But inside, they're just hands. They aren't even remarkable, except that such powerful magic can flow through them with so little resistance." She kissed his jaw. "And because they belong to my lover, who I've missed."

"As I've missed you," Hubert sympathized. He put a hand over his eyes. He didn't have any other way to get away without jostling Bernadetta. "Look, you don't need to like them. I won't ask that of you." He pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes closed. "They don't look like hands. It doesn't look like skin. I knew the bargain I was making." They were nothing to please a lover, but neither were any of Hubert's sharp edges and sturdy walls. He opened his eyes, lacking an excuse to keep them closed any longer, but didn't look Bernadetta in the eye. His incredible luck with Ferdinand and Bernadetta was that they each looked at someone with vanishingly few redeeming qualities -- and no soft spots whatsoever -- and decided he would make a good lover. It really was impossible to understand.

"Your denial is even deeper than mine," Bernadetta argued. "You have the most human hands I have ever seen." She took his hand and clutched it to her chest -- in practice, with her chest squished against his, she clutched it to her collarbone -- and asked, "Did you not launch a rebellion for the sake of all humankind? Did you not form this tough skin by fighting for five long years against the people who wanted to control our society? The texture doesn't scare me, Hubert, and the color scares me even less. These are the hands you used to prize Fódlan out of the grasp of the Church of Sothis, and that makes them the most human hands I can imagine." She raised the hand to her lips to kiss it. The leathery gray-black color that seemed to ooze out from under his glove should have turned her stomach. "Your hands are fiercely human, Hubert. They have been altered with human magic." She lowered her tone to add, "I've seen hands that were worth fearing before, and it wasn't the outsides I was afraid of." Her hand was already in his hair. She cradled his head and leaned forward to kiss him, but pulled back when she realized he barely knew how to respond. He couldn't find a problem with her argument, but he knew it was wrong. There had to be some axiom, something she'd taken for granted, that was wrong. Something that would pull the foundation apart and topple the whole thing.

"The ends were good," Hubert agreed. "I'm glad it was my first war. I'm not sure I could use the same means to achieve it, knowing what it would take out of me."

"I'm not sure Ferdinand has another war in him, either," Bernie admitted. "I think he believes he does. His spirit was exhausted and he's still working on restoring it."

That was too good a description of Hubert's state. The nightmares, the way he always felt driven, the constant feeling that they were just playing at having a government and the real work would begin any day now. He knew, had known for some time, that some integral part of him had died, slowly and surely, on the battlefield. That was to do with his chosen school of magic; there was no way he and Ferdinand had the same affliction.

Before he could come up with an adequate protest, Bernadetta added, "He does the same, you know. Just, with his battle scars instead of his hands. I think… I think he believes that, if I see the scars, I will also be able to see who he had to be when he got those scars." She nestled her head against his chest. "I think, when you look at your hands, you see the things you did to hurt yourself so badly. I think you have much worse scars on the inside than you will ever have on the outside. But I'm just Bernie. I can't see through time. I just see my Hubert, who's safe and sound in his bed at home, in 1186, holding me."

"That's exactly the problem," Hubert told her. With his free hand, he caressed her head. "You don't know what we did. What I did. I doubt you would insist so fervently about my humanity if you did."

"Hubert…" Bernadetta kissed him several times then, although of course the separate instances all blurred together. At last, she pulled back long enough to say, "I know you are so human that the things you did hurt you in that way no one really knows how to recover from," and kissed him some more. "I know you've had nightmares for at least a year and a half," a peck on the corner of his mouth, "and you treat your own illnesses out of fear that a doctor will see through you," two kisses on his jaw, right next to each other, "and I know you startle at unexpected noises, but you've trained your face not to change, so you think nobody notices." Two kisses up the hollow of his cheek. "And do you want to know something, my sweet snapdragon?"

He was already laid bare in both the physical and metaphorical sense. Bernie's words bored into him like a mole's paddle-like claws into soft earth, hollowing him out. So he said, "What, butterwort?"

Her eyes were profoundly sad, but her face wore some semblance of a smile as she told him, "Those are only the traits you share most obviously with Ferdinand."

She had no idea the effect she had on him. Her sweet voice, her forgiving eyes, what was the point of turning them on a monster like him? He had never believed in holy penance, but he'd been trying to atone for the War through his work, keeping everybody in the Empire as safe as possible. "I never wanted to do that to him," he confessed. His voice came out whispery and hoarse. "I never wanted to do it to anybody. I didn't know how else to take the continent for humanity." He needed to tell her. He needed her to understand.

Bernadetta kissed him and leaned her forehead down onto his. "I know," she told him. "I don't blame you."

"I tell myself it was the best we could do, the ends were good, all that, but what does that matter to the dead? And is death by necrotic energy more or less painful than death by lightning?"

Her hand was gentle in his hair. Her head dropped down to the crook of his neck and she spoke between kisses. "You bury your dead," she told him. "Like you told me: it never stops hurting, but you get better at putting them back in the ground." There was nothing he had done to deserve her kindness. Nothing. "If you were the callous, bloodthirsty monster you're so afraid of, my gentlest bump in the night, I think you'd be able to sleep a lot more soundly." He shuddered as she planted whisper-soft kisses on his neck. "I think you wouldn't be afraid of yourself at all."

"I was never supposed to be soft," he confessed. He was crying. He wasn't supposed to cry. His back had been shredded, one or two or ten lines at a time, and he hadn't cried. "I don't know what to do." She was still kissing his neck, still kinder, softer, than he deserved. "I want to blame it on someone else, on Ferdinand coming to my bed and soothing me, but we all know this hard shell I built was cracking long before that."

She was so close. She was so warm. Her soothing warmth surrounded him even though she was so small, so petite. "Mmh. And why do you think that hard shell couldn't hold?" she asked, relaxed as anything. Hubert was breaking apart and she was alright.

Hubert clutched at her. If his gloves had been off, he would have done it just the same. He felt her back tense under his hands (his claws) and then relax as she cradled the back of his head, drew his shoulders closer against her. He wept into her shoulder and she let him. "Tell me about my soft heart," he begged. "Tell me who I could have been if my father hadn't made me this way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Happy almost-New Year, and tune in next week for a bit of a downer. It's nothing life-threatening, but you can't have that sweet, sweet comfort without some hurt, amirite???


	25. Visiting Edelgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta and Hubert go to visit Edelgard and end up talking about how to act in a marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned about a moving-related hiatus before, and it’s looking like it’s probably going to happen. I have the next three weeks planned out, with only light editing needed, but after that I have a lot of scenes that need reworking and a big gap where the end goes. It’s going to be a really fun conclusion to write! But I do need to write it before I can post, and I’m doing things like coordinating roofing and plumbing repairs, and getting my stuff into boxes, and doing my job (ugh).
> 
> Like I warned last week, this chapter is something of a downer. There was a great discussion in the HuBernie Discord about the toll crests take on your body, and how they might present like autoimmune diseases, which I LOVE, so expect that to come up again. CONTENT WARNING: In this chapter, when Hubert listens at the door, Edelgard is very afraid she’s going to die (because it can feel like that when you’ve been hurting for a long time) and I promise I’m not going to kill Edelgard, but if you want to skip that section, stop reading at the paragraph that starts, “He went to listen at the door.” and pick up again four paragraphs later, at “That was as much as Hubert needed to hear.” All Edelgard is really asking for is reassurance that she’s going to be okay. Also be careful with the paragraph that starts, "I'll leave," Hubert promised. He felt distant from her in a way he hadn't in years.” He references the very real danger of her crest-related illness, but reminds her that she’s taken every possible precaution to ensure her safety and survival. There’s nothing else about death after that paragraph.

"You're a menace, you know," Hubert said, lying boneless and naked next to Bernadetta as she explored his hand with her gentle fingertips and gentler lips. Basking in afterglow so early in the evening felt positively luxurious. "You and Ferdinand both. It's a precarious business, being cared about."

"You'll just have to put up with it," Bernadetta told him, and kissed the back of his hand. They'd spent a good, long time on what Hubert called desensitizing or reprogramming and Bernadetta called breaking, but it still sent a little shiver down his spine to have that kind of affection lavished on his ugly (different? just 'scarred'?) hand. "As it turns out, when you go out of your way to care for everyone you know, they all start caring about you back."

"Do you intend to paint it, that you have to study it so closely?" Hubert asked, careful not to snap at her.

"I haven't had much chance to look at it," Bernadetta reminded him. She pulled his hand to her chest and her eyes sparkled with Ferdinand's mischief as she told him, "I could look at some other part of you instead." Her fingers dug down against his scalp and she caressed his head, touching the parts she named: "Your soft hair… your sharp jaw… your neck… I could lavish the same attention on any of them."

Hubert turned his head and Bernie obligingly kissed him. She kissed his shoulder, too, as she drew back.

"What will I do with myself?" Hubert sighed. He took advantage of Bernadetta holding his hand to her chest to touch her on his own. "I mean, for now, all the same things as usual, of course. I'll be in the office on Monday to see what kind of havoc you've wrought. But what do I  _ do?" _

"You live with it," Bernadetta suggested. "You live better because of it. Eventually, it becomes part of you instead of a little surprise you have to remember." He watched her cheeks tint pink as she added, "I have felt very different since you and Ferdinand convinced me of how desirable I am. After thinking about all the time I spent feeling less-than, I feel better. Why should I ask my work to change when it's more stable than I am?"

Hubert chuckled. "It certainly is reliable," he agreed. "At least day-to-day." No accounting for international emergencies." He caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth to kiss. "Up until you went and changed all my systems."

"Maybe you'll  _ want _ to spend less time on work if you can decide to do things just to make yourself happy," Bernadetta teased. "There's a small theatre doing Ferdie's and my favorite opera in January, and Laura has already agreed to come."

"And plan a wedding," Hubert groaned. "Clara and Yanni have already invited themselves to stay here in a few weeks. Clara seems to think I'm six years old and Yanni's convinced I'm as sketchy as my father."

"They'll just have to meet you fresh," Bernadetta suggested. "If you can grope my chest with no warning, does that mean we can start on round two?"

Hubert laughed. "How did I ever think you were shy?" He turned onto his side to get a better look at her and touch her (astoundingly soft) breasts again. He felt the drag of his brittle skin on hers, but it didn't seem to bother her. She liked it, even, since he had no reason to believe she was faking her arousal.

"Where do you want these hands of mine?" he asked, smiling. He dragged the backs of his fingers down the center of her chest. He lunged on top of her and rolled until she was on top of him, their skin no longer sweaty and hot. He let his hands lie flat on the backs of her shoulders; he still didn't really believe she wanted them, but he was working on that. In the meantime, he could believe she would settle for them. For him. It was still a bit of a foreign concept. "Where shall I put them?" he asked as Bernie giggled.

"All over me," she suggested. "Everywhere." She leaned down to kiss him. "I've waited so long for this."

Hubert grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her hard. She grunted and reached down to fondle him, and he wondered if Ferdinand ever got to see his wife in such a vocal mood. Hubert would have to introduce the man to the noises his wife could make when she didn't hold back.

The effort to give Hubert a second wind was, unfortunately, in vain, but it turned out Bernadetta moaned  _ very _ loudly when Hubert rubbed her clit with his fingertips. It turned out that, when his fingers were inside her, she could bear down so powerfully that even his half-numb fingers could feel it, all while alternating between babbling praise and moaning. He could feel the seed he'd already spent inside her, warm and slick, and he encouraged her as her moans turned into throaty yells, a volume she hadn't reached at all before, and she hooked a leg around his waist. When she came, she nearly sprained his fingers, she clenched around them so hard, but the only noise she made was a soft, throaty moan.

"That's my sweet kitten," Hubert encouraged. "That's my butterwort." He rubbed gently next to her clit, not directly on it, slowing his pace as she heaved a few slow breaths. When he'd pulled his fingers out of her, before he had a chance to clean them off, she wrapped herself around him, her arms around his ribcage and legs around his hips, planting kiss after kiss on his chest.

With his clean hand, Hubert held her against him, first by the shoulders, then by the back of her head as he kissed the top of it. He said something overwrought like "I always want you near me" as they more or less tried to melt into one being. "My most delicate," he murmured as she started kissing his neck. She nipped near the base of it the way he liked, biting and sucking hard enough to mark him as hers in her sweet Varley purple. How long had it been since he'd been  _ hers? _ Over a month, and he'd only had business correspondence from her in the meantime. He moaned so loudly, she pulled back for a moment in the middle to check that he was okay, and had to take him begging her to keep going as confirmation that he was alright.

Ignoring the goop on his fingers, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled back over so he was on top of her again. "My sweetest," he said as he left a cluster of gentle kisses under her ear. "My little honey bee. That was exactly what I needed." She liked everything to be gentle: gentle voices, gentle touch, gentle feelings. She liked a partner who thought about her comfort and made her feel safe. It had taken time and a demonstration by Ferdinand to convince her that leaving a little bruise on Hubert's neck made him feel safe and secure in a way her natural gentleness didn't. He didn't plan to ask any more of her than that, but seeing her marks on his skin, feeling them under his collar during the day, was an irresistible high.

There was a point, eventually, when they stopped feeling aroused at every touch, when the conversation was just conversation, when it was more comfortable to get up and go to the bathroom to wash his hands and get a damp flannel than it was to lie naked with his lover. When that time came, after cleaning them both up, Hubert suggested they get dressed and Bernadetta agreed easily.

"I should go home for dinner," Bernadetta said casually as they arranged the finishing details of their outfits. "Ferdinand is a bit clingy about the baby, and I just started to feel sick a couple weeks ago."

"I will certainly not stop you," Hubert confirmed. He took her face in his hand and smiled down at her. "Congratulations, Bernadetta. I'm glad you can allow yourself to want it now."

Bernie dove forward and hugged Hubert tight, her face hidden against his chest, and Hubert held her back nearly as tight. He ducked his neck down to kiss the crown of her head and congratulated her again. Whatever reassurances she'd gotten, it was still brave of her to take this step and Hubert was happy to comfort her through it.

"Sorry. Sorry, I know it isn't the big deal I'm making it out to be," Bernie said as she pulled away. "Some people have babies every year and it barely even wears on them."

_ And some people die, _ neither of them said aloud, but Hubert could guarantee they were both thinking it. "Whoever Linhardt has referred you to, I'm sure you're in excellent hands," Hubert reassured his lover. "They value competence above everything else. You will be safe with their pick." And Bernadetta and her baby would live. Some things, of course, were beyond human control, but a capable medical professional was worth their weight in gold for something dangerous like childbirth, and she had one.

He showed her back through his study and into the hallway, down the stairs to the parlor. On the way, he asked one of the servants to have Lady Aegir's carriage prepared and tell the cook he only needed dinner for one tonight.

"It will be two very soon," Bernie teased as she sat down. "Or, I suppose your aunts will be here before your bride, and their families, too, probably. Aegir House was nearly full when Ferdie and I were married, from all his relations coming to stay over."

"Ah, a rejuvenating, festive environment for a young Bernadetta von Aegir," Hubert joked.

"It was horrible," Bernie admitted, smiling nervously. "Ferdinand knew most of them, or at least their names, but to me, it was a lot of strangers. It was much easier to live there after our honeymoon, when they'd all gone home."

"I had heard you were very distressed at the start of your marriage," Hubert told her. Frankly, if any of his spies had managed to miss the disastrous first days of marriage between Ferdinand von Aegir and Bernadetta von Varley, they would have been beyond incompetent. The whole affair was loud, public, and messy. "Now that I know you better, a lot of pieces have fallen into place."

Bernie nodded. "I was very nervous while I still lived in Varley," she said, as if it were the place, and not the proximity to her violent father and controlling mother, that had made her nervous. "I didn't know any other way to be. And poor Ferdie wanted so badly to help me feel comfortable, but you know how overbearing he used to get. We were almost exactly wrong for each other."

"Like Ferdinand and me at school," Hubert suggested. "His cheerful pride and my cynicism. Our arguments were famous."

"Yes, and then all three of us mellowed out," Bernie said cheerfully. "I did say we were  _ almost _ wrong for each other, but Ferdie's saving grace was that he was just so kind. Even as enthusiastic as he was back then, it was hard to be afraid of him."

Hubert frowned. "I saw you get afraid of him," he pointed out. That day in the infirmary, when she'd come to talk to Manuela for some reason, but Hubert was being treated for a mild overdose. "I think it was the only time I saw you outside of dinner in the mess hall." Had she been at the White Heron Cup? Ferdinand had, but had Bernadetta been socked away in a corner somewhere? "I don't remember much, except that I was more observant of your distress with my head pounding and my eyes unfocused than he was with all his attention on you."

Bernadetta's face was turning tomato red. She was looking down at her lap. "Do you want to know something?" she asked. "The thing that upset me first that day, that made me so scared I fainted, was the malice in your voice."

Hubert barked a laugh. "My voice?" he clarified. He laughed when she nodded. "I was acting  _ embarrassingly _ childish that day, Bernadetta! It was that attitude I used to get in my teens and at the start of the War, like having a real, human body was beneath me. I had been trying to build up tolerances to some of my poisons -- like alcohol tolerance, but much less enjoyable along the way -- and, if you want the truth, by the time I'd passed out and been carried to the infirmary, I was weak as a kitten. My voice was the only thing I  _ could _ lash out with."

Bernadetta smiled a little as she asked, "Like last summer, with the heat?"

It was Hubert's turn to look away. "Yes, just like that," he said, trying not to be too short with her. "More directly my own fault, though."

“My problem with Ferdinand wasn’t his fault, you know,” she said. She brought it up like a casual topic, but there was no way it could be. “He did restrain me, sometimes, to keep me from hurting myself, and I usually thanked him once I calmed down. It was never to control me, you understand; it was the opposite of what my father did. When you saw us, he was trying to keep me from getting up before I was ready, so I wouldn’t faint again. When we were home, and I told him how long I had anticipated a husband who would hold me down on the bed for… less moral purposes, he was horrified. There has never been a second time.” She smiled down at her lap. “Maybe it’s only because I’ve spent these years adjusting my expectations to what I can get from Ferdinand, but I can certainly be very happy with a husband who doesn’t repeat his mistakes.” Looking up, she added, “It really shows his sincerity, don’t you think?”

Hubert smiled and said, "Of course," but couldn't help feeling there was something wrong. It was probably just that they'd been married too young and hadn't had time to learn some of the finer social skills; after all, Hubert had known at the Academy that Ferdinand was unobservant. And how could you develop those skills in the normal way when your wife skipped from emergency to emergency? "Even when I despised him, I would have had to admit he had sincerity in droves."

“Marquis Vestra?” his maid said from the door of the parlor. She was followed by a young man in Hresvelg livery. Hubert had ignored the knock at the door, figuring it was an end-of-day delivery or something. Even his own agents would normally be delayed, allowed to sit down and given a hot drink until Hubert was free, if their news wasn’t urgent. Palace news that couldn’t wait for Bernadetta’s departure was… It was bad news. “Pardon the interruption, but there is urgent news from the Palace.”

“Is she alright?” Hubert asked. Had he left at the wrong time? Had he left his liege, the woman he’d devoted his life to, only for her to crumble between his return to Enbarr and the time he’d planned to see her?

“My lord,” the runner said, and bowed. “Her Majesty says to tell you she is well enough, but the Royal Physician implied you’d have their head if you weren’t fetched.”

Hubert stood and straightened his jacket. “Were you given a codeword?” They were arranged ahead of time; he knew the Ethereal Moon one even though he’d been out of town.

“Gillyflower,” the runner recited. “And the Emperor says to look after yourself and bring a scarf. I don’t think I was supposed to say that, but I was never told not to and she did say it.”

“My carriage will be ready in a minute or two,” Bernie said as she stood. “Would it trouble you terribly to stop by the Prime Minister’s house and tell him his wife will be out for dinner? And give him the word ‘sundew’ so he knows it’s my decision and not a kidnapping?” She produced two silver coins from her ridiculous little purse and held them up.

The runner bowed to her and said, “Thanking Your Grace kindly, it would be no trouble at all,” but he still accepted the tip.

Hubert strode into his front hall, to the coat closet, vaguely aware that he should be looking for Bernadetta’s coat, too, but he could barely think of anyone besides Edelgard. He grabbed a thick, green-black scarf, plush with ribs and cables, that had been a gift from Bernie and pulled it on before his winter coat. He handed Bernadetta her own winter things almost as an afterthought, and she tagged along silently with him to the stable as she fiddled with her buttons.

“Has her health actually been alright, or has it been steadily dwindling and nobody had the gumption to tell me?” Hubert asked as Bernadetta ran after him on her short legs. He really didn’t care about whether she could keep up with him.

“She’s been fine,” Bernie told him. “I visit her every night before I go home. She has some minor problems, sometimes, but nothing to worry about.”

Keeping his fear from overwhelming him was taking up most of Hubert’s considerable mental faculties. A sudden downturn in health was at least as terrifying as a slow descent into the kind of condition that would cause Hubert to be called to the Palace.

“Dr. Linhardt is very public about Edelgard’s treatment,” Bernie pointed out. “They probably realize -- you know, walking so quickly will do nothing to get the carriage prepared faster -- they probably just think you will be extremely cross with them if they don’t keep you more informed than you have any reason to be, and they’re right.”

They were in the stable now, cramped with unused stalls and, of course, the Aegirs’ carriage. The horses were still being prepared, so Hubert pretended not to pace. He couldn’t stay still, but he wasn’t about to make a show of it like Ferdinand. “She has had… hiccups… before, but I learned about them after the fact,” he told his second-in-command. “Nothing to call me to the Palace for.” What would she need to call him for if she weren’t well and truly dying? She had always had too much respect for Hubert’s independence; he would just as gladly be tied to her hip. Or did this simply mean that Linhardt had a horrifically bad grasp of which events Hubert liked to keep an eye on?

“If she didn’t call the other Ministers, it isn’t life or death,” Bernie pointed out, which was… actually a really good point. The runner had gone to Aegir House under the assumption that Ferdinand would be eating dinner there, which meant there was no formal gathering of all the Ministers, therefore Edelgard wasn’t on her deathbed. Hubert had been her companion during her recovery in her early teens, and had continued to help her during flare-ups up until the war, when she’d found other companionship. This was a small, painful event in the larger course of her life, nothing more. He had to believe that.

Bernadetta did her best to distract Hubert, which he didn’t want and which didn’t work. Then she told him about some of Edelgard’s actual medical problems while Hubert had been gone, which was reassuring in its own way. It meant nothing was hidden from him, and if nothing was hidden, he could see the existing problems clearly.

Bernadetta sat next to him in the carriage and held his hand, and even leaned against his shoulder for some of the ride, and soothed him by telling him Edelgard’s problems. They discussed anticoagulants, like the one Edelgard had taken for Linhardt’s research while Hubert was out of the country and unable to strangle the doctor for endangering her life much more acutely than her crests did. It was impossible to tell if it was recklessness, stupidity, or just unfortunately medically necessary without knowing what information Linhardt had gotten from that trial. When they were discussing the applications of such drugs as randomly-activated poisons (since the killing event was internal bleeding, which could strike at any time, and not the poison, itself) the carriage pulled to a stop and Hubert immediately got out and helped Bernadetta down. She insisted that he not wait for her on his way to Edelgard’s room because she knew the way just fine, so he didn’t lose any time lengthening his stride. He took two separate flights of stairs two at a time and reached Edelgard’s room in record time. He nodded to the door guards and said Gillyflower and they let him in, and one of Edelgard’s ladies-in-waiting, Nadia, met him in the antechamber.

“She’s taken ill,” she told Hubert. Her demeanor had always been too sweet for him, but her words were direct. “Very flushed and feverish, and the doctor’s been with her for nearly an hour.”

“Have you heard anything they’ve said?” Hubert asked. How fatalistic was Edelgard feeling? How angry was she?

“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you,” she told him, as calm and collected as if she were telling him the weather. “The screaming-at-Doctor-Linhardt interval stopped after two or three minutes, though, so it’s probably pretty serious.”

Hubert sighed. That was an accurate-enough predictor of Edelgard’s mood. If she was energetic, but had a bit of pain, they could go for ten, twenty minutes easily until Linhardt stormed out. For Edelgard to put up such a small amount of protest and keep Linhardt with her for so long afterward meant something was really wrong.

He went to listen at the door. He could hear Edelgard crying, and Linhardt soothing her.

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need,” Linhardt was saying. “I’ll always be ready to tell you, because I’m never letting it happen. C’mere. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Nobody’s dying tonight, least of all you. And you’re not dying next week, or next month, or next year. All my experiments are going well and I’ll probably have a formula ready next month.”

“I’ll be dead in a month,” Edelgard protested tearfully.

“Shhhhhh, no you won’t. I won’t let you. I’ve got you, El. You’re not going to die.”

That was as much as Hubert needed to hear to know the tone of their conversation. It was something Edelgard had asked of her doctors when she was younger, but she’d stopped asking it of Hubert as soon as her delirium passed and she was able to recognize that it was Hubert sitting with her.

He knocked gently and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Edelgard. Linhardt.” They were lying on the bed, Edelgard in Linhardt’s arms. Linhardt was fully dressed and Edelgard was in her nightgown, her hair braided. Hubert couldn’t see her face.

“I didn’t want to call you,” Edelgard said. Hubert couldn’t tell if she was shaking her head or just shaking. “I’m not that unwell.”

“And yet, here I am, ready to comfort you however you need,” Hubert pointed out. He stepped forward and touched her shoulder very gently; a firmer, more solid touch could hurt her sometimes when she was ill. “How are you, really, El?”

“I’m so tired,” she said. Her voice was overtaken by tears and she curled up against Linhardt’s chest. “It ju--” her throat worked in hiccuping gasps between words. “It just never ends, does it?”

“It feels that way, I’m sure,” Hubert said, because Linhardt had just told her it would be over in the next few months. Maybe not everything, but the worst of it. “It’s been a long road for you.”

“When did I turn into such a coward?” Edelgard asked, still not turning around. “Time was, I looked death in the face and laughed.”

“A much quicker death,” Hubert countered. He couldn’t help the fondness in his voice. “For a purpose. I’m sure you’d feel that way again in a second, if there was a reason to.” He grabbed her head, messed with her hair as much as you could with braided hair. “Remember that last slog through Tailtea, heading toward Fhirdiad?” he asked as he went to pull up a chair. “Five years behind us. Five years of nonstop war, and the wind that whipped through even the thickest overcoats. And you said to me: Hubert, we’re at the end. We’re so close to being done. This is the last push, and if we win this, then everything we’ve done will have mattered, really mattered.” He put his hand back on her head. Her hair looked creamy beige against his white gloves. “You’ve been fighting this war for over a decade, El. One last push and you’re done.”

She sobbed anew into Linhardt’s chest.

“Is the pain still alright?” Linhardt asked quietly. “How are your hips and shoulders?”

“Horrible,” Edelgard sniffed. “I’m never getting to sleep tonight. I ache everywhere.”

“Your spirits are up,” Linhardt countered. Hubert noted that, despite her words, Edelgard made no move to push Linhardt away. “And the night’s still young, Edelgard; maybe you’ll be able to sleep after you’ve yelled at me that you’re too sick to eat.”

“If you know, you won’t have to offer,” Edelgard grouched. She was remarkably lucid for someone who claimed to have no reprieve from an episode that had affected her so deeply.

“Come now, Edelgard. I may not seem like it, but I’m an eternal optimist,” Linhardt told her. “Maybe, one day, you’ll accept. Can’t let my emperor waste away with no protest.”

Edelgard murmured something about her head, then in a very clear voice, said, “Hubert, you can go. I’m sorry we dragged you all the way out here over nothing.”

“This seems like the opposite of nothing,” Hubert pointed out. “This seems like an emergency where you’d like to have a friend nearby.”

"We aren't children anymore," El snapped. "I'm not going to ask you to-- I don't  _ want _ you waiting on me like something between a nurse and a companion." As if to herself, but at a volume Hubert could hear easily, she added, "I wish you didn't even respond to requests like that, but here we are."

"The most important thing hasn't changed," Hubert told her. He wished she would turn away from Linhardt and actually look at him. "I'm still yours. I probably always will be.” Not in love, but in every way that really mattered.

She finally did turn around. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet from crying, and she was horribly flushed from fever. “Stop that!” she snapped. “I don’t-- I can’t-- I don’t  _ want _ to do that to you. You’re getting married.”

“Laura knows how I feel about you,” Hubert reassured her. “Maybe you don’t need what I can give you the way you used to, but you’ll always have me here whenever you ask.”

“We’re talking about this when I feel better,” Edelgard told him. “I’m not asking for some kind of life debt. Just be my friend.” She turned back to Linhardt, who held her close to them again. “Laura doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, and neither do Ferdinand or Bernadetta.”

Linhardt looked up to stare at Hubert, which was certainly less than ideal. Hubert sighed. “Are you planning to keep airing my secrets until I leave, then?” he asked. Petty as that was, it would tell him exactly how badly Edelgard was hurting so he could advise Linhardt accordingly.

“I wasn’t, but I am now,” El told him. “That’s the only real one, though, isn’t it? Everything else pales in comparison to you finally deciding you have a heart and you should follow it sometimes.”

Hubert smirked at Linhardt, hoping the bastard was as uncomfortable as Hubert, himself, and said, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m still marrying Laura for convenience.”

“Seems awfully convenient for her, then,” Edelgard grumbled. She didn’t turn around, keeping Linhardt in the uncomfortable position of a stuffed animal who could hear and understand their conversation. “I like her, but you have to admit she’s marrying up in a big way.”

“Yes, because she’s exactly what I’m looking for,” Hubert agreed. “She isn’t looking for a grand romance I can’t give her, isn’t looking for sex beyond what’s necessary, but I genuinely like her and she has a very good head on her shoulders.”

“Leave me alone,” Edelgard griped. “I don’t want to think about the depressing marriage you say you want.”

If he had to tell her why he was marrying a woman now instead of waiting to marry a man, if he had to be really honest about it, he would have to tell her that he couldn’t be the first to do things like she could. He couldn’t break the mold and pioneer his way through a new legal mess while having to stand up in the Council every day as the Left Hand of the Emperor. He wasn’t Edelgard, and he couldn’t be. And, regardless of his feelings about self-determination and personal freedom, he still had a family and they still insisted that he had to marry sometime. Men with stronger feelings than his for other men had married women and been fine.

"It's an agreement," he said, and reached out to touch her arm. "We would both prefer not to marry, but we'd also both like to get our families off our backs, so we've agreed to be roommates. You'll understand when you feel better." He'd made the big jump and gotten engaged to Laura immediately before he left for Almyra, so of course it had seemed cryptic. But their desires had a certain symmetry to them, and was that not  _ better _ than most marriages? It wouldn't be based on anything as fragile as romantic passion.

"Get out of my room," Edelgard snapped. Her voice sounded scratchy and raw from crying. "I just want to be selfish, just for a little bit, and I want to pretend that you can be selfish, too."

Hubert leaned forward. He picked her braid up and kissed Edelgard's hair. It was how he had shown his devotion when she was newly returned after the Insurrection and had too much weakness and pain for Hubert to kiss her hand. Even turned away from him, she would recognize the feeling. "You can ask whatever you like of me," he told her. "Even knowing you're in Linhardt's capable hands, I still won't leave you like this."

She turned away from Linhardt, rolled onto her back and looked him in the eye. Her eyes blazed with anger. Her eyes were glazed over with pain. "Leave, Hubert," she commanded. "Stop trying to do the right thing, okay? I'm not sending you away because I don't want you here!" She brought her voice down to a volume that wouldn't be audible from outside without intentional eavesdropping to add, "I don't want you to see me like this. I want to be the strong Edelgard, the one who commands armies." She turned back toward Linhardt and buried her face against the layers of clothing on their chest. "Leave me alone."

"I'll leave," Hubert promised. He felt distant from her in a way he hadn't in years. "But I want you to know that you were just as strong at twelve as you were at twenty." He stroked her head one last time, letting his fingertips trail down her braid a few inches. "The thing you have to fight is inside of you. It wages vicious war against you, and if you do not defeat it, you will die." He reached over to touch her hand, even curled up in Linhardt's robe as it was. "You command allies to help you fight it. You commission new weapons to destroy it. And you persist even when it feels hopeless. You are eternally my Commander Edelgard." He bowed, not because Linhardt could see but because Edelgard could hear, and went to the door. He hadn't yet shut it behind himself when Edelgard sobbed again. Through the door, he heard Linhardt soothe her again.

Bernadetta was sitting in the parlor.

"You could have gone home," he told her. "I don't think she needs anyone other than Linhardt." He sat down on the couch next to her.

After a moment, she said, "You plan to stay."

"I do," Hubert confirmed. "She gets fickle when she's like this. Right now, she doesn't want to see me; perhaps, in an hour, she will call for me again. I know you have become close, this past month, but I think that is very different from the way she and I are close."

Bernie mulled it over. She didn't look at him or say anything, just sat in silence for a few moments before asking, "Do you need me here?"

It was an unprecedented question. It was something Hubert was never asked.

What was the answer?

"I'm not scared for her," he told her. He wouldn't have been able to say if he was talking to her as his protege or as his lover. "Linhardt says they have everything under control, and pain bad enough to make her feel so fatalistic is nothing new. On Monday, I'll see her in Council, acting bold and decisive. She'll be alright."

"And how will you be?" Bernadetta asked quietly.

“Pardon?” It took a moment for the meaning of the question to catch up with him. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m perfectly well.” He wasn’t sure why that was even in question.

"Will you be worried?" she asked quietly.

She was driving at  _ something. _ Hubert couldn't tell what it was. "Not beyond reason," he said. "Her illness goes in cycles. It always has."

Bernadetta reached out and took his hand. Hubert's heart beat harder in his chest, but logically, he knew El's ladies-in-waiting already knew. "I know… Tell me if this is overstepping… I know, when you feel scared, you don't like people to know. It's okay. It's just me here. If you feel scared, just squeeze my hand a little and I'll stay."

Hubert sighed. There was a sort of complacency he'd gained over time. He knew El was getting worse, and her troubles were getting longer and closer together, and she really wouldn't last another two years if things kept worsening at this rate. He had also seen her like this before, and helped her through over a decade of this trouble, and he just wasn't scared for her anymore without good reason. "It used to scare me," he admitted. "When she returned after the Insurrection, she would cling to me and ask me to tell her she wasn't going to die, and I was afraid that meant she would. Then she stopped asking me for that, and decided she would only ask healers, and I was afraid that meant the threat was real." He would have squeezed her hand, but that would have sent the wrong message. "It doesn't mean she's dying. It doesn't mean she's in danger. It only means she's afraid. Linhardt knew they were agreeing to do this for her when they came back. I mostly expect to be bored tonight."

Bernie leaned against him and said, "I wouldn't feel alright if my best friend was ill and afraid."

Some cruel part of him, no doubt left over from his Academy days when he'd been so jealous of her, wanted to ask who, in particular, her best friend  _ was. _ But, aside from being the most heartless thing he could say, it was an utterly useless question. It would do nothing to reassure her that he really would just be bored. So he just said, "We've been through much worse together than a little fever." He wanted to pet her hair, stroke her arm, anything to really reassure her, but with people around, the most he could bring himself to say was, "Why don't you go home and have dinner? We both know Ferdinand will wait up until you come home." She had implied Ferdinand was practically tearing his hair out with worry when she so much as left the house, even though it was still so early in her pregnancy. Hubert had explored every nook and cranny of her body, and it looked and felt no different from before.

She hesitated, smiling pleasantly. "I guess that's the most sensible thing to do," she admitted. "I apologize if I've been fussing too much; I just know how hard it can be when someone you love is hurting, and I wanted to be sure."

"Wait." Something was wrong. "You don't want to go back." That made no sense. "Why don't you want to go back?"

Bernadetta glanced at Nadia and Adrienne, absorbed in their own conversation over a card game, and decided to speak anyway. "He's just a little clingy," she told him. "It's not like he means anything by it. And there's plenty of reason why he should be, after everything I've put him through by being so mousy. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Hubert countered. "If you don't even want to spend time with him, it's anything but fine, regardless of his innocent intentions. If you want me to talk to him on Thursday, discreetly--"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. That won't be necessary. Oh, Bernie, you've done it again, telling all your  _ stupid _ problems to someone who isn't even involved--"

"Bernie." He covered her hand with his. Looked her in the eyes. "If he's upsetting you, he'll want to know. His troubled nerves aren't any more important than yours." He wasn't going to spend even a hundredth of a second entertaining the idea that there was some magical stress threshold Ferdinand could reach where he would decide to strike his wife. He wasn't going to engage with Bernadetta's fearful fantasy that yelling at his wife would ever be one of Ferdinand's chronic problems, or that he would ever fail to apologize afterward. "I am absolutely involved because I care about you. And you know I do my best not to be overbearing," even though that threshold was so astoundingly low with Bernadetta, "but I won't see you let yourself get stepped on. Will you allow me to discuss this with Ferdinand on Thursday if you don't manage to?" That was the best way to ask: phrase it like she was doing him a favor, and not the other way around.

Her hand under his started shaking. Had he said something wrong? Was she more afraid than he'd realized? "I won't," she said, and spent a few moments breathing as her shaking worsened. Hubert stayed silent, giving her time to get her thoughts together.

"I just want to be a good wife to him," she said, finally. Saints, he could already tell her reasoning was going to be a disaster. He felt a very special tinge of non-remorse for her father's untimely death. "I don't want to be too demanding, or act judgmental when he's only trying to be considerate."

Ferdinand would never think that of her, but Hubert had heard about this: the problems Bernadetta kept to herself out of fear of bothering her husband, which always caused more concern than anger when she finally divulged them. They always caused Ferdinand no end of guilt when they finally came to light. "Does he make a habit of holding onto resentments?" Hubert asked, as if he had an actual concern the answer might be yes. To his knowledge, he was the only person in the world Ferdinand had ever harbored a grudge against, aside from people who had caused actual, lasting harm to his loved ones or committed literal treason. There was probably something Bernadetta could do to make Ferdinand resent her, but it wasn't going to be starting a conversation about how attentive she wanted him to be during her pregnancy. That was more the sort of thing that caused Ferdinand to excitedly recount every detail of their exchange to Hubert.

She looked down at their hands, smiling nervously. "If he does, he doesn't let on," she admitted. Good. "But I try to make sure the temptation isn't there."

Hubert didn't roll his eyes or groan at how pitiful and small she was acting, but it was a near thing. Instead, he told her, "He doesn't feel tempted to do anything that might hurt you," and decided to leave it at that. "If you tell him his concern is a little too much, he will only feel that you're helping him to care for you."

"I don't want him to think his help is unappreciated," Bernie told him, but her tone said she was already sick of it.

"Then tell him how to help you in a way you can appreciate," Hubert advised. That seemed like a solid argument: it appealed to her desire to be a good, obedient wife, but would still encourage her to stand up for herself.

Bernie was shaking her head. "You're coming at this all wrong, Hubert," she told him. "Of course, whatever he thinks is appropriate is correct."

If she were a heroine in a book, he would be scolding her aloud right now. "When, exactly, are you able to speak up about your own needs?" Hubert asked her. "You don't act like that in the Ministry; I take your suggestions and critique all the time."

"That's work," Bernie said immediately. "Of course, in the workplace, it's expected for a person to speak up. But, in a marriage… A-anyway, Ferdinand's job is so taxing; why should I bother him with my own silly affairs?" She was breathing faster. The topic was so stressful, it was noticeably upsetting her.

"Bernie, you're the stars and moon to him," Hubert reminded her. "That will never change. I would bet the reason he's acting so overbearing is because he feels a little lost. He doesn't know what would be helpful, but he feels determined to help, anyway." And what was  _ her _ job, if not taxing? She had spent the past month as Acting Minister of the Imperial Household. Hubert reminded himself to make time to visit the cemetery and spit on the grave of the man who had taught her to honor her husband's wants over her own needs.

"I certainly would not call him overbearing," Bernadetta told him, perfect and proper and in fine condition to get trampled over by a husband who was trying to be kind and considerate. "He has always been very kind to me."

He didn't have the energy for this garbage. He could hear Edelgard, in the next room, snapping at Linhardt, and Linhardt responding in kind. "Bernie, he  _ thrives _ on direction from you," Hubert reminded her. "Like I wrote to you at the beginning of the summer: he's like one of his overeager hounds. He loves when you tell him to do something he wants to do, like take you to the opera, and he loves when you tell him to do something he hates, like throw me out of your house if I mistreat you. It isn't the command, itself, that he's concerned with; he truly likes seeing you assert yourself." She was acting attentive as if she understood, so he closed down any arguments with, "Now, if you fail to mention it to him by Thursday, I'll do it on your behalf. Let him get over-cautious a few months from now, when you actually feel less capable. But it would just be silly now, when you feel perfectly fine."

"You don't understand," Bernie insisted. Hubert knew the next thing out of her mouth would be the kind of nonsense he'd fought a war against. "He likes it when it's once or twice. I'm not going to throw away the goodwill I get from being agreeable on something like this."

"The goodwill-- what are you expecting him to say?" Were they not both talking about a worst-case scenario of Ferdinand making those sad-puppy eyes for a few days out of guilt? Did Bernie expect her husband to yell at her? Was Hubert the one who was spewing nonsense?

"We have a very peaceful marriage," Bernie said, which was an adjective Hubert had only heard in the traditional congratulatory greeting for a newly married couple, not something you actually thought about in your real life. "And, to keep it that way, I always try to be… agreeable. Ferdie's so kind; he doesn't deserve a wife who nags him for being kind to her."

"Have you talked with him about trying to keep your marriage… peaceful?" Hubert asked. "A lot has happened since you were married; it might be a good time to discuss it." Maybe that would push them into the difficult conversation they so obviously needed to have. Maybe it would get Bernie to leave him alone so he could worry about El in peace. The voices in her bedroom weren't  _ raised, _ per se, but they weren't quiet. "Especially to ensure you know how you both want to raise your child."

That seemed to get to her. She nodded and leaned against him a little. "Tell him on Thursday, if I don't," she said, finally. "I think, if you don't, then I'll never tell him, but if I know you're going to, then I will."

Hubert smiled. He nudged her with his shoulder where they were pressed together. "Have a safe ride home," he said as warmly as he could manage, and before he knew it, Bernie was out of the room.

He rolled his shoulders and heard some of his vertebrae pop. Then he turned to El's ladies and asked, "Dinner for five, I suppose?"

"Four and a half," Nadia corrected him as both women looked up from their card game.

"Four and a half," Hubert mumbled as he stood up. They probably understood El's moods even better than he did, now. "Any chance you could deal me in? It sounds like they're starting a debate club in there, and I've heard them keep  _ that _ going for hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next week, Bernadetta and Ferdinand have a very difficult conversation and a very sweet reconciliation. :)
> 
> Edelgard needing to be held and told that she isn’t going to die is something one of my friends does, who learned about it from reading about an actress whose name she’s since forgotten. Even if you know you’re going to live for a while longer, it’s still reassuring to hear, especially from a professional. Pain can make it hard to think logically, especially when you’ve been in pain for a long time, and sometimes you just need some comfort.


	26. How Marriage Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta and Ferdinand have a difficult conversation about their relationship that launches Ferdinand into a panic attack. Then they reconcile, because they love each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short for pacing reasons, but next week, everything gets resolved, I promise, and much better than the gentle reconciliation at the end of this chapter.
> 
> The opera references are The Barber of Seville, where Count Almaviva disguises himself as a young gentleman named Lindoro to see if the beautiful Rosina will love him without his title, and Pirates of Penzance, about a young man named Frederic who was raised as a pirate, but has just finished his apprenticeship and manages to get himself engaged to Mabel, the most beautiful young woman in town (who has a very strong will, and just as strong of a voice). You know "Barber of Seville" from the "Figaro, Figaro, Figaro" song ("Largo al Factotum") and Pirates of Penzance from "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General." The song I quoted is called "Stay, Frederic, Stay," from Pirates, where Frederic finds out he has to stay with the pirates until he's 84, but promises to marry Mabel afterward since they're already engaged, and they sing a song to celebrate their devotion to each other.

Bernie had been hovering for at least two nights. She was more subtle about it now, less prone to little tittering noises and soft muttering, but she had never been good at keeping silent. They had made love at every opportunity after his return from Almyra, and Ferdinand's understanding was that giving control of the Ministry of the Imperial Household back to Hubert had gone very smoothly, so he couldn't think what she might be worrying about.

He didn't want her to worry about anything. Or, he didn't normally, anyway, but surely it was worse for her now, when she could pass her nerves on to their child.

"Have you been meaning to ask me something, my love?" he asked, moving his bookmark in case he suddenly needed to close his book. He heard her squeak from the other side of the door jamb.

He closed his book and stood. "Was dinner alright?" he asked, knowing it was probably not the solution. If it was stomach trouble, why would she dither for two nights instead of one? "I had heard pregnancy can make you extremely sensitive to the freshness of food." He reached the doorway and smiled at his wife. "Would you like to come and sit with me?"

"The f-food is fine," Bernie said. Her lips twitched into a smile, but then she lost it. "I discussed it with Mrs. Petrichov last week. Um."

Ferdinand lowered his voice, keeping it quiet and warm. "Would you like to come inside?"

"I-i-it isn't anything," Bernie insisted. "I sh-shouldn't have bothered you. Sorry."

"Darling, you are shaking like a leaf," Ferdinand pointed out. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me walk you to the bedroom." He slid his hand to her shoulder blade so he could guide her. "Would you like to be alone tonight? I can arrange to be somewhere else. And I will ensure tea and cookies are sent up -- or, would you prefer something else? I know your appetite has not increased yet, but better safe than sorry, and if you stopped liking sweets before bed, I would  _ really _ worry." He was babbling. He did that a lot, ever since she had told him the news.

"I…" She pulled away from his hand and he let her go. "I want… to say something, and I don't want it to be taken the wrong way," Bernie told him. She looked at the bannister of the stairs instead of at him.

"Of course, darling," Ferdinand agreed. He tried to take everything she said in good faith.

Bernadetta nodded and stayed silent until they were in their room. After Ferdinand shut the door, she went to sit on the bed, her legs drawn up next to her. He leaned against a wall and tried not to fidget as Bernadetta collected her thoughts, his hands resting calmly and visibly near his hips.

"When you… No, that's not… When  _ I… _ Or… It isn't… I don't… Ohhhhh, I don't know how to say this." Her hands kneaded in the sheets as if they didn't know what to do.

"Have I been rude to you, darling?" Insults she aimed at herself always flowed freely from her lips, but she wound herself up in knots when he was responsible for even the slightest misunderstanding. "I apologize; you know the company I kept for the last month. What have I done to worry you?" He  _ wanted _ to rush forward and hold her, but either she would get upset and push him away, or she would be so comforted that she would just agree with him and let the topic die without saying her piece.

"No, you aren't rude at all," Bernie insisted, though now she looked even more upset than before. "You're so kind to me, and considerate, and-- y-you know what? It's nothing. I just need a little time to rest and I'll-- I'll be fine." Her hands squeezed fistfuls of the sheets.

"I was not rude," Ferdinand conceded, "but I did something that upset you, anyway. I have not quite learned to read minds yet, my dove; you will have to excuse me if I need you to tell me why you are upset." He wanted to comfort her: pet her hair, hold her head against his chest. Not nearly for the first time, he wanted to wrap her up in their softest sheets and blankets and keep her like a pet, insulated from the harsh world around them. Just until she felt a little better.

"I'm… Well… It isn't that you're doing anything wrong! You're wonderful, and so sweet and considerate, and you're always thinking about my comfort, and… And I know you  _ like _ doing those things -- you like pampering me -- but I've been feeling like I haven't been as appreciative as I should be, and I don't mean to be rude, and it isn't because I don't like it, because I do, it's just-- oh, Bernie, you're really putting your foot in your mouth now. You're always doing this, wasting people's time when they're just trying to help, when you know it's nothing…"

Her mumbling got lower and faster and Ferdinand had trouble making out the words after that. He still didn't know what the problem was. He latched onto one of the few things she'd said directly. "Am I a bit  _ too _ complimentary again?" he asked gently. "Are you starting to lose trust in my words?" He liked to say sweet things to her, even when it made her squirm. She never fully believed him, but sometimes she was more receptive and sometimes it was difficult for her to hear, so they tried to be open about it.

"No! I was even… even thinking we might spend an evening on that soon, if it would help. I always love your compliments, even when they're too much." She was looking down, perfect and demure and so, so much more capable and headstrong than she looked. "I only… Well, like when we were coming upstairs. You were… Of course, you were only trying to help, but it was... too much. Um… I just… I don't… want you to think of me as something delicate." She paused, just for the barest fraction of a second, then nodded to herself. "Yeah. That's, um. It's so kind of you." She pulled her shoulders in a bit. "It really is, and I don't want to seem ungrateful, but… I'm still the same Bernie. I'm not any more delicate. I feel fine." Her voice broke, and then she was crying. Ferdinand rushed forward to comfort her, but pulled up short when she drew back from him.

"Bernie…" He could talk her down -- he had done it before -- but it was better when he could hold her. "My love. How long has this been troubling you?" He hadn't even been home a week. Whatever the problem was, it had been building for much longer than that.

"Sorry!" she said as she flicked tears away from her eyes. She sniffed. "I sh-shouldn't lose control like that. I'm  _ really _ convincing now, huh?" She seemed to be doing her best to shrink away into nothing. "I just… don't want to criticize when you were doing it out of kindness. I don't even mean it as criticism! Just a little feedback! And, of course, if you're really worried, you should feel free to--"

"My love." His words cut her off, thankfully. "Bernadetta. It is no hardship to pull back a bit. I only wonder why asking is so difficult for you." She had waited most of a week, and tried to bring it up unsuccessfully for two days. She got so flustered, she was unable to say what she meant, and now she was crying and didn't want to be touched. There was more at play than wanting him to back off about tea and sweets, or wanting him to stop helping her up the stairs when she was well.

"Well, I… I mean… I don't want to be too demanding," she told him tearfully.

Ferdie smiled. She was always so considerate. "Well, I think you are not at any risk of  _ that," _ he assured her. He waited for her to elaborate on what she was actually worried about.

Silence stretched between them.

"Bernie? Love, whatever you were so upset about, I am beyond happy to help resolve it, but I will need to know what the problem is."

After a couple more moments of floundering, she said, "I didn't even want to bring it up. But Hubert said I should, since we'll need to know how to talk to the baby about it, and it's not that I think he's wrong; I just… Whenever I talk about things like this, you look really upset and hurt, like I was hiding something from you, and I don't want to make you feel bad, not ever, so I haven't really  _ wanted _ to bring it up explicitly."

Something that upset  _ him? _ That was certainly a feat. "Regardless, if not talking about it is so upsetting for  _ you, _ perhaps total honesty will help us reach a resolution so that it hurts neither of us," Ferdie suggested.

Bernie nodded. "We don't… talk much about how marriage works," she said.

Ah, yes. The kind of conversation that upset Ferdinand, but not Bernadetta.

"I think I'm ready to tell you what I was taught. All at once, I mean, instead of in little pieces. I'll do my best, but not all of it was in words, so I… will do my best."

Ferdinand sat at her feet. Reached out to gently stroke her knee through her dress. He didn't want to tower over her for this conversation. "Whatever you think is best, my love," he affirmed. He remembered her saying that her love for him was irrelevant, that she didn't even think about their relationship in terms of love.

Her fingers dug into his hair, played at his scalp. "A good wife is obedient," she said, as if reciting. "She is quiet and deferential, and yields to her husband's will. She keeps peace in the home, and does not question his decisions."

"And these qualities are not dependent on how kind or upstanding her husband is," Ferdinand clarified.

"Exactly. Or by how… peaceful… he naturally wants to be."

Ferdie nodded. "So, a man could be infinitely cruel to you, and it would always be your fault." There were people who still thought that way. There were even more people who only thought otherwise in very extreme cases.

"And there was more, lots more that I didn't learn in words, but understood anyway," she added. "Like, everybody yells when they get frustrated enough. And, beyond that, everybody has a threshold of stress and anger and such where… where they start to hit."

"And this 'everyone'... Did it include you?" Ferdinand clarified. He thought the answer was no, but he didn't want to assume. He was pretty sure he'd spent too long assuming.

"No. My sisters and I were never allowed to act out. If we did, we'd get tied up, or locked in our rooms without dinner, or mocked in front of everyone. But Mother could act that way toward us, if she wanted to. You heard what she said about using a firm hand with your wife. I thought marriage just meant it would be a different man expecting me to fall in line and not talk back."

He tried to digest that information. It was a lot, and foreign to him. He wanted to protest: not me, I would never. But she was not telling him facts as they were; she was telling him facts as she had learned them.

"I feel so bad about the start of our marriage," she admitted. "I was so afraid of you. I was certain that you had the same kind of limits as every man I knew. But you never yelled or struck me right after we were married, and I kept misbehaving worse and worse -- I couldn't help myself -- because I knew there had to be a limit to what you would allow, but I couldn't find it. I no longer knew what the rules were. Then we went to Garreg Mach and your classes started to wear on you, and I thought: this is what will do it. This is what will show me where Ferdinand's limits are. But you just kept all the pain inside yourself and turned it into fear. Even when you and Hubert got so angry with each other, your anger was never at anyone but him. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"And, of course, saying such a thing before I had actually done it would be the next thing to slander," Ferdinand guessed. "You do not simply  _ ask _ someone when they will start to take their anger out on you."

"And they might start sooner," Bernie added. "Since you put the idea in their head. I didn't want-- I just wanted to stay safe, for as long as possible."

He knew he must be a coward because he couldn't bring himself to ask how long such ideas had persisted for. He couldn't bear it if the answer was "even still."

"And… and it was… I won't say it was  _ bad _ for me to live with you and be your wife after starting from those ideals, but it was very disorienting. I didn't know what to do with myself because I would wait for your direction and get nothing at all. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't just tell me what you wanted from me, why you made me guess what you wanted me to do. It took a long time to understand that you really were asking so little of me, and when I did… I felt very directionless? And I was very scared that you didn't want me, since you wouldn't let me help you the way I'd been taught."

"Was that when you started your relief work?" Ferdie asked. His voice cracked. He knew she had been afraid of him at the start of their marriage, but he had been certain that had ended in Garreg Mach. But Bernadetta didn't sound like she was talking about the distant past; he had to figure out the timeline of these beliefs.

"Mm-hm. Is that… Does that make sense to you?"

"So, the entire year I was at school…" Ferdinand prompted.

"I was there to support you," Bernie confirmed, and he didn't know if she was being cheerful or sarcastic. "And I was the same, fearful Bernie I'd always been, but I did try my best to help you."

"You asked me the right number of candles," Ferdinand said. He felt ill. He had never figured out what those conversations had been about, where Bernadetta seemed to want him to tell her how to live her entire life. That really was what she'd wanted.

Goddess above, and he'd made love to her like that. Back when she had been doing her level best to act in his self-interest instead of her own. He shuddered. He didn't know if she would ever be in the mood to tell him these things again, or if he would be able to listen so openly, so he had to listen now, but he had never felt so repulsed by his own actions.

"Yes, things like that. Trying to go to dinner with your housemates, too. I hated it, but I was sure, if I didn't at least try to meet your friends, you would… resent me. I was certain your kindness wouldn't last, because what reason did I have to believe it would?"

He wanted to hold her, soothe her, make all of it go away, even though he knew that wasn't how such deeply rooted ideas worked. "How much do you act on these ideas now?" he asked, fully aware that he didn't want to know the answer.

"It isn't all bad," Bernie said, which meant  _ too much. _ "It's how I met Hubert again. I would never have gone near him if you didn't want me to. I really was afraid of him."

"But that is no reason to-- Bernadetta, I would never ask you to--" Hubert's voice mocked him from Almyra:  _ the outcome is good, so it must be good. _ "My darling, I do not remember how I asked you to meet with him, but I am sure I must have asked. If it was not a question, I would not have asked it as one. I knew he upset you at Garreg Mach." And her at her most delicate, right after coming from her father's house. Unable to trust his kindness because she thought he would turn on her any day with no warning.

"I want you to know what you lose if you ask me to stop," she said, and she sounded more determined now. "I know you've never asked me to do these things for you, but you still get something from my compliance." He felt her legs tense. "I want you to understand that you like me this way, even if you didn't ask me to be like this. And I can keep deferring to your wishes if you want, and I won't be upset about it." Ferdinand was too stunned to respond. "Anyway, who wouldn't want a wife who supports him as much as possible? It does make things easier."

Ferdinand felt very ill. He was nauseous, his eyes were tearing up, and his heart raced like he had just run half a mile. The number of times he had failed to protect Bernadetta  _ from himself _ were too numerous to count, most instances so small even she had forgotten them.

"Ferdinand? Ferdie. Oh, no…" He was vaguely aware of her joining him on the floor. He shook her soft hand off his cheek; he had never felt like such a monster. He had thought the worst thing he'd ever done to her was consummate their marriage before either of them were ready, but it turned out the real worst thing was  _ everything they had ever done together. _

"Ferdinand? You're really starting to creep me out, sweetie. Can you look at me? Just look at me, okay?"

He didn't deserve to look at her ever again. He didn't deserve to be in the same room as her. He ducked his head down and covered his eyes. Tears smeared across his palms.

"Ferdie, come on," Bernadetta pleaded. She tried to gently pull his arms toward her, but he didn't let her. "You never fight me after your bad dreams, and those have to be worse. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

"I'll-- sleep elsewhere tonight," he offered. His voice creaked. "Sorry."

She sighed. "If you want to," she conceded. "But it's still early, and I want to get you lying down for now." She kissed the top of his head and he flinched.

He eventually allowed her to goad him out of his seat on the floor. He was horrifically aware that, in trying to avoid taking advantage of her kindness, he was creating more work for her, but by that time, he was shaking so badly he couldn't help her if he tried, breathing heavily like he was doing something much more exhausting than sitting on his bed and fumbling at his buttons.

Bernadetta spoke soothingly to him the entire time, saying things like "you always do this for me when I'm upset" and telling him how sweet  _ he _ was and how  _ he _ deserved to get help when he was so distraught. He had never felt lower or more pathetic, or more incapable of a sufficient apology.

Despite his best intentions, he ended up lying next to Bernadetta as she sat against the headboard, one hand on his scalp, singing softly to him. "Bernie," he said, and he hated his voice, hated how thick and wet it sounded. "Please never do it again. I can't bear it." He wanted to reach for her, hold any part of her. He didn't know where their limits were if she wasn't yielding to his every whim.

She paused in her singing just long enough to say, "I won't," and Ferdinand didn't know how he could trust that, how he could  _ know _ that she wasn't just saying what he wanted to hear so he'd calm down. He didn't see how he could get anything more definitive until he was well, but he couldn't stop thinking about whether this was just another layer of deference, a deeper pretense where she would now try to act more willful while still cleaving to his desires as well as she could. A more sophisticated version of the girl who had slept in his childhood bedroom and, when they woke in the morning, couldn't even decide whether she wanted breakfast in bed without Ferdinand's direction. And, anyway, he should know as well as anyone that real change never happened instantaneously; to gain that type of independence, she would need a plan. They would both need to practice, since Ferdinand knew he could get very willful and it would, of course, be difficult for Bernadetta to change a habit that she credited with keeping her safe.

"I can hear you overthinking it, Ferdinand," Bernadetta said above him, her gentle hand still in his hair. "You are not my legal team. I am not a lawyer looking for a loophole.  _ They replaced her away in his cabin below. Let the wi-nd blow hi-igh blow lo-ow~" _

"But I do know how clever you are," Ferdinand reminded her. She stopped singing to listen to him. "And how… how hard it can be to change from something that feels safe. I was only thinking of how to make it easy for you. It seems the least I can do."

"Ferdie. There is no 'least you can do.' I did it willingly."

"You did it out of fear," Ferdinand countered. "However unfounded that fear may have been, it was still real. It started as a fear of me, and then it was a fear of changing the good state of our relationship. Neither of those are trivial. There was no point when I reassured you enough--" his voice cracked. He took a deep breath. "When I reassured you of your safety enough to alleviate those fears. This is not something I will allow you to take any blame for, my darling." Should he still call her sweet names? He would need to ask before he did it again.

"Oh, don't worry, Ferdie. I know who I blame for it," she told him cheerfully, almost vengefully. "But he's dead, and we're alive, and… and, even if it's difficult for both of us, I want to take back the things he took from me. But I don't want to make you suffer like this in the meantime."

He sobbed and buried his face against her thigh so she couldn't see him. Her hand wandered to his shoulder, then resumed petting his hair.

"It… it scares me, too," she admitted. "Trying to be myself without anchoring myself to someone else. I don't know how to do that. But… Please say you'll still want me?" Her voice broke as she added, "it feels like you don't want to touch me now, and I haven't even changed anything yet."

He impulsively reached out to hold her, but because of how he was lying, that just meant putting his arm over her legs. So he propped himself up and knelt over her. "My dove," he said, his voice still weak from crying. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she tilted her face up to meet him. "I will always want you, Bernadetta," he promised. He kissed her, longer this time, then pressed their foreheads together. "I cannot see how  _ you _ could want  _ me _ when I have been a brute to you all this time." He raised a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, and leaned up to kiss her forehead. "Never doubt that I adore you, my sweetest." He gave her forehead a quick peck again, for good measure. "My daintiest. My darling." He held her against his chest. "If you find, on this journey, that I have done something unforgivable, please know that I understand. I will gladly reckon with any harm I have done you if it eases your mind, my dove. But always know I adore you." He kissed the top of her head and said, "Let this be the first question I ask you where you know with absolute certainty that I will accept any answer: would you like me to sleep in here tonight, or in a guest room?"

She ran her fingers delicately down his chest, then again, more firmly. "Every time we've been apart, I've been afraid for you," she pointed out. "I want you with me. I want… to feel like doing this won't push you away. Even if that isn't what ends up happening. Even though you said you wanted to go earlier."

"I am delighted to hear it," Ferdinand soothed. "Then I will stay with my beautiful, decisive wife." He kissed the top of her head. "Come sit on my lap?"

"I think I could just about bear to do that," she teased, so Ferdinand stopped hovering over her. He sat next to her and she turned to sit on his lap sideways. With Ferdinand's head on her shoulder, she asked, "Are you feeling a little better now?"

"So much better," Ferdinand confirmed. "You always know just how to help me." He leaned his face down against her soft breasts and asked, "How could I ever want to take anything more than what you give freely when your happiness is my deepest desire?"

Bernie giggled. "Flatterer," she accused. "But… I'm glad, even though it upset you, that you… want me to be me. And that you didn't shy away from what that means. I… keep worrying that you'll change your mind tomorrow and ask me to go back to how I was, but it's easier to tell myself that's silly than it would have been even a year ago."

"I will tell you every day if you need it," Ferdinand promised. "Just like I am happy to remind you of your beauty, your intelligence, your poise…" He held her just a little tighter, nestled his face closer against her chest. "Your allure…"

"Tomorrow night?" Bernie asked. Her voice sounded shy, but she leaned toward him, letting him do as he liked with her chest. "I would love to hear all your sweetest words, my Lindoro."

Ferdinand pulled away so he could see her face. "Do not ask me to be your Lindoro," he pleaded, but he was smiling. The tears in his eyes would go away with time. "Ask me to be your Count Almaviva, the full truth of what I am and still hopelessly in love with you." He kissed her shoulder. "Or, perhaps not quite hopeless. I did manage to marry you, after all, my clever Rosina."

"I should call you Frederick," Bernie teased. Even she was grinning now. "So powerfully in love, you barely know your own mind, but always dutiful and sweet." She petted his hair. He loved how much she liked to touch it. "Raising your sword only to defend the weak. But, where he is innocent and stupid, you are the brilliant young Prime Minister who is leading our whole country into a better future." She kissed his temple. "Headstrong and self-determined." She tilted her face up to kiss his forehead, and he tilted his down accordingly. "But I could maybe call you Frederick if you were very drunk."

"And I would delight in your Mabel," Ferdinand told her. "Willful and bold, unyielding. Starring in your first duet, outshining the local police in bravery. I am nothing but eager to hear more of your opinions."

_ "Oh, here is love," _ Bernie sang, and Ferdinnad joined in:

_ "And here is truth, _

_ And here is food for joyous laughter! _

_ (S)he will be faithful to his(her) sooth, _

_ 'til we are wed and even after!" _

They played around a bit, singing the song to each other, the lyrics less important than the cheerfulness of the song. After a few rounds of unison and call-and-response, Ferdinand started giggling, and Bernadetta joined in, and before Ferdie knew it, they were laying on the bed, kissing each other on the mouth (or thereabouts), mostly clothed with Ferdie's good leg hoisted over Bernadetta's hip to draw her near to him, all their sorrow and uncertainty gone for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We're almost out of the woods! Next week, Hubert gives Ferdinand a talking-to about the way he's been treating his wife, Ferdie and Bernie talk about hair care, and Bernadetta helps connect people who can fix each other's problems.


	27. Final Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert helps hold Ferdinand accountable for the way Bernadetta’s been treated. Ferdinand and Bernie discuss hair care. Bernadetta sets things up so that Laura and Sandy can solve each other’s problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m posting this from my new house! I haven’t moved yet, but I’ve come as the advance guard to get everything ship-shape, and I just got the internet set up yesterday. The kitchen cabinets were a disaster when I got here, but now they’re shiny and supple thanks to some wood oil. :)

"You should know that I should, by all rights, be attending a party with my fiance right now," Hubert pointed out. "Since it is, after all, the last weekend night before Saint Cethleann Day."

"Well, if you are really that reluctant..." Ferdinand started, and just about fled. Would have, if Hubert didn't corner him and loom over him on the bed.

"So we are going to make this time count," Hubert emphasized, "and you are going to be grateful that I know I'll see entirely too much of overbearing aunts this winter and don't want to be stuck at a party with one unnecessarily." He ran his gloved hand down Ferdinand's naked arm, making his lover shudder. "Now. I'm going to pull the whole story out of you, piece by miserable piece. What do these pretty wrists deserve as a binding, do you think? Silk for my delicate fop? Sturdy linen for my strong cavalier? Or maybe manacles, for your crimes…"

Ferdinand shuddered on that last one. Hubert smirked. "Yes, you think you deserve that, don't you?" he asked. "Lie down on the bed, Ferdinand." His mind buzzed with options: manacles would be cold in Ethereal Moon, and while gloves would cover any marks from struggling against the metal cuffs, he didn't want Ferdinand's hands to be sore for the holiday, when he was around people. He didn't even want this encounter, based in real shame and guilt, to linger for as long as marks made by hard metal would last. His usual favorite, linen rope, would do very well.

"Then again, we can't always get what we want, can we?" Hubert asked as he started winding the rope securely to Ferdinand's wrist to ensure he was bound safely. He twisted the knife by adding, "do you suppose these are very like the ropes her father used to tie her up? Or perhaps his were thicker." Ferdinand made a miserable sound under him, so it was working. It served him right; seven years they'd been married. Seven years, and Ferdinand had been too selfish to properly investigate his wife's abuse by her father. There was more to it than that, there must be, but that was the long and short of it.

He got one hand tied down to his bedpost, readying Ferdinand to lie face-down, and said, "There, enough restraint to hold a beast of a man like yourself." With a second length of cord, he started binding Ferdinand's other wrist. "How much do you suppose it takes to bind a little slip of a girl? Do you think it varies by how hard she struggles?"

"You are too cruel," Ferdinand said, his head turned stubbornly to the side, but he allowed Hubert to finish tying him up.

"No, 'too cruel' would be tying you to a chair, I'm sure," Hubert jabbed, and Ferdinand whimpered. It really was too easy.

What was it he'd said about Bernadetta and her fearfulness? Something about horses. Everything he said was about horses. Something about… Something about being unable to trust him because of her father's constant betrayal throughout her childhood. "Then again, I suppose some of us are just easier to talk to about those types of trauma than others."

Ferdinand yelled and thrashed against the ropes. Hubert smiled a bit to himself. Yes, they could sort this out very neatly tonight, and both of Hubert's lovers would be better off for it.  _ You're trying to run their marriage as neatly as you run the country, _ Edelgard had scolded, still running a low fever but very much back on her feet, when Hubert had complained to her over dinner on Friday of how absolutely idiotic they both were in their efforts to keep from bothering each other. She wasn't wrong, but the smaller playing field of only two people meant Hubert's strategies could be much more effective with a lot less effort on his part.

And with a lot more fun in the meantime.

Hubert leaned down to hover over Ferdinand so the other man could feel Hubert's breath on his ear. "I suppose the ropes have misled you," he jeered. "I still see your crimes, Ferdinand. I still see clearly all your offenses against Bernadetta, and tonight you will confess to every count as if they were crimes against your Goddess. And I will oversee your penance." The words rang a bit hollow for him, a little operatic, but Ferdinand stared, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open, and that was what mattered.

"But first, you need to be in a state where you can understand." Hubert went to grab a much longer length of rope, one they'd cut when he had wanted to try some more attractive rope patterns than just bindings. It was sufficient to decorate Hubert's body, so it did a very good job of binding Ferdinand's legs together at the knees. A shorter length of rope was sufficient to tie his ankles, and then Hubert was done. His criminal was all trussed up, ready to be worked on, made to sing. It was almost a shame that tonight's topic was real, and not something small or made up that was being blown out of proportion for fun.

"How well can you really sympathize?" Hubert asked. "Perhaps I should leave you to languish. Perhaps I should tell you to plead your case with me, and then ignore you when you do." He wouldn't, not really; this was for pleasure, not torture, and unless Ferdinand said he wanted to be ignored like that, it would probably only lead to more pain. Anyway, from the way he'd acted at school, seeking attention from anyone who would deign to give it to him, Ferdinand knew what it was to be ignored. Of all the things he needed to learn to consider, that wasn't one of them.

"No! No, I don't… Please don't." The tinge of desperation in Ferdinand's voice when he said 'no' confirmed Hubert's suspicions. Starving him of attention would help nothing.

Hubert turned to the nightstand, where he'd laid out all the instruments he intended to use: a belt, certainly. A wooden spoon, probably. A riding crop only if Ferdinand was very, very good. "And why should I listen?" he asked, grabbing the belt. He drew slow lines with it around Ferdinand's back, let the buckle clink so he knew what it was. "Who ever listened to poor, sweet, fearful little Bernadetta?"

"Me," Ferdinand said. His body bucked, unable to do much more than that because of the ties. "From the second we married -- the second we met --"

Hubert whacked his ass with the belt. Ferdinand's yelp was very satisfying. Hubert was the one setting the narrative here, thank you very much. "Did you?" he asked. "Did you really? Or did you ignore her at every turn, choosing a pleasant narrative over the real one?"

Ferdinand's legs tensed, which of course looked a little silly when they were bound together. "Now, see here, Hubert, I ne-eep!"

Whacking that glorious ass with a thick leather belt was possibly Hubert's new favorite hobby. "Did I give you permission to speak?" Hubert asked. "I can't say I recall ever giving you that privilege, little hobbyhorse. You know what you want." He leaned over, handled Ferdinand's jaw, slipped corrupted fingers just barely into Ferdinand's mouth. "You want it so badly. The sweet release. The absolution. But I only give it to good little mutts, not bad ones who interrupt me when I'm speaking to them. Is that understood?"

"I answered your question, you insolent cur," Ferdinand growled. Good, he was getting testy. It would be no fun at all if they didn't end up at each other's throats, and more importantly, it would do nothing to help Ferdinand.

"That sounded a lot like speaking to me," Hubert said, and struck him across the shoulder blades. If he could withstand such treatment as a child, Ferdinand would be fine. "You will listen, little mutt, and you will not respond until I allow it or I will fix the problem myself by muzzling you." He ran his knuckles up and down Ferdinand's spine, then got up to find a nice cravat or something to tie his mouth with, if it came to that. "Poetic justice, don't you think? For a woman too fearful to speak up about anything at all?" He found what he was looking for in the wardrobe and went back to the bed, ground Ferdinand's head down into the mattress and leaned low over him to speak into his ear: "Not to me, though. She sang like a perfect little songbird for me." Ferdinand whimpered. "I did nothing special, Ferdinand. It was nothing you could not have done for her, if you had only had the presence of mind. The only thing I ever did for her was believe in her, which you could have done any day, any minute in that whole seven years, but you simply never thought to." Ferdinand bucked and twitched, and from the noises he made, holding his tongue was positively  _ painful _ now. "Too selfish, too busy, but most of all, just like everybody else in her life, all too ready to believe the lies her father drilled into her head. Sweet, delicate little Bernie, wouldn't hurt a fly, too scared to go into town, too stupid for real work. Who fetched you at night all those times at school, Ferdinand? Was she fearful then? Was she stupid when she got us the supplies and healers we needed on the front, regardless of the shortages we heard of constantly? Was she shy and retiring when she opened the gates of Varley to us, or was she ruthless, determined,  _ vicious? _ Did you believe her stuttering, mincing words, Ferdinand? Was it a comfortable fiction for you?" Instead of striking, he pressed the belt against Ferdinand's back. He wanted a general awareness of it, but not pain, not right now. That would be too rewarding. "That would make you the hero, wouldn't it? The bold escort, the center of her world. You couldn't bear to play second fiddle to the most brilliant woman in Adrestia, so you let her continue to believe in her own worthlessness." He pressed harder on Ferdinand's back. The man was writhing. "Well? Out with it, then. Speak."

Breathless and pained, Ferdinand said, "Mandrake."

Hubert sighed. He put the belt down on the nightstand and started untying Ferdinand's left wrist from the bedpost. "You don't need permission to say that word," he reminded his lover. "You can always say it out of turn, if you need to." He gave Ferdinand his wrist back and started on the knees while Ferdinand positioned himself to yank the free end of the other wrist binding.

"You are truly merciless, do you know that?" Ferdinand asked. Was he… shaking?

"That is rather the point," Hubert reminded him. "I've gotten better at toning it down, but this is… It's her." He and Bernadetta were too alike. He couldn't put his feelings about her away in a little box. There was a part of him that was also screaming,  _ you didn't listen to  _ me. _ You didn't look beyond  _ my _ mannerisms, and you thought I was El's pet. _

"How… how much of what you said was real?" Ferdinand asked. Hubert got through with the knot and unwound the loops encircling Ferdinand's knees as Ferdie got his right wrist free from the bedpost. Hubert allowed him time to flip himself over and kissed the side of his head to reassure him.

"If I'm being honest, I was hoping you would tell me," Hubert admitted. "It… seems inconsistent to me, that you should adore her the way you do and celebrate her every success, and she should still be so fearful and reclusive after so long. It makes me wonder what I'm missing." There, that was his ankles freed. He rubbed them gently and asked, "Are any of the places you were bound giving you trouble, Ferdinand?" Yes, he was definitely shaking. Hubert would have to fix that.

"What? No, it's fine. I'm fine. Your bindings were perfectly-- well, not comfortable, but…"

"Then lie back," Hubert ordered, and put a hand behind Ferdinand's shoulders to make it easy. He touched Ferdinand's face and kissed his forehead. "You look so distraught, my love. Let me take care of you."

"As I did not take care of Bernadetta, you mean," Ferdinand said, but he did lie back. His jaw quivered with tension. His eyes shone. Hubert should definitely have gone a little slower.

"Like I said, I am completely certain I don't have the full picture," Hubert told him. "It was meant to be such an outlandish claim that you could fight back against it. Whatever… whatever  _ misunderstandings _ you had, I'm certain they came from caring about each other." He could feel himself calming down, no longer  _ wanting _ to be nasty to Ferdinand, as he gently stroked that soft hair and that glorious torso.

"You did not know her before we went to the Academy, did you?" Ferdinand asked. "You did not have your agents' eyes on her?"

Hubert shook his head. "I was concerned with other things." Ferdinand reached for his hand and he held it and rubbed it and played with the fingers and wrist.

"You never saw the worst of her fearfulness," Ferdinand assured him, which was, honestly, pretty impressive, since he'd met a woman who couldn't come to dinner without a few nights' notice, and often couldn't come, anyway, who ran away before dessert even though she loved sweets. "When we were just married, she could barely leave her room for a few hours a day. On our honeymoon, we went to a spa and she got so overwhelmed, she cried on the way home. She was in bed all the next day." He pulled Hubert close, and Hubert went, still offering gentle physical comfort to ensure he wouldn't overstep. "I swore to myself that I would never push her or overwhelm her if I could help it. I only wanted to keep her safe, Hubert. I never… It was never my  _ intention _ to ignore her, but I would never force her to recall that pain by asking her to describe how she thought about our relationship. I should have said these things out loud, I know that now, but I already feel like enough of a monster without the reminder that I ignored the forest for the trembling, screaming trees."

"You tried to help her," Hubert soothed. He wasn't good at soothing people; it didn't come naturally to him. "You wanted her to feel safe, and I don't think anybody could fault you for that."

"I could fault me for that!" Ferdinand snapped. "I hurt her, Hubert! I let her believe I expected her obedience in all things. There is no way to describe the harm that did!"

He was going to ask Hubert to tie him up again at this rate, and Hubert would believe him and try again and hurt him again. He had to change the framing of the conversation.

"I think it is the opposite of what I said while I was trying to rile you up," he said, because a concession always caught Ferdinand's attention. "I think, taking into account her fearfulness when you met her, and the amount of energy it took her just to get through the day, you helped her to become the comparatively confident, placid woman who was so receptive to my encouragement." He brought Ferdinand's hand to his mouth and kissed it. "You not only kept her safe; you helped her  _ feel _ safe, which is no small feat."

Ferdinand pulled their joined hands to his chest. "There is no one of my actions that I regret," he admitted. "Or, a few, but none I did not know about before. But, when I think that I had thought I was showing her that she could be as disagreeable as she liked and still have me on her side, and what I actually showed her was someone who expected her to anticipate his desires, just as she was taught to expect… It gives me chills, Hubert. It makes me feel sick. To know that she did that for me --  _ cleaved _ to me, like I was someone to be feared -- I have no words for how I feel. I do not even want to be in a room with her, in case I accidentally exert my will on her when I never meant to. How do I protect her when I, myself, am the threat?"

He really was crying now. He hid his eyes with the hand that wasn't holding Hubert's.

"You seem to be forgetting a very important detail," Hubert told his lover. "The most important one, even, which is that she loves you." When Ferdinand didn't respond except to grip his hand tighter, he continued: "It isn't as simple as fear alone. There's also the context that she was never given better words for doing kind things for her husband. When you make me coffee, I could be very self-centered and say you are cleaving to my wishes, or I can say that you care about me and want me to have a nice coffee break, so you made me my favorite drink. That is not nearly as miserable as you make it sound, is it?"

"She did… want me there… after we had discussed it," Ferdinand admitted. "She didn't want me to distance myself from her." He drew in a shuddering breath and his voice was weak and cracking when he said, "Hubert, I cannot bear for her to think I have lost any affection for her, but I cannot stop thinking of how easily I could harm her again. I know we are taking precautions, I  _ know _ we have a plan to right this wrong, but I am so repulsed by myself."

"Tell me about your plan," Hubert offered. This was the first he'd heard of a plan.

"Well… I have experience with changing my habits, you see," Ferdinand told him, sounding a little bashful. He had stopped crying, but Hubert wiped tears from his eye with his thumb. "I was very shy as a teenager. I only became the brash  _ Ferdinand von Aegir _ you knew at school after a lengthy campaign to build my own self-confidence. I know how long it takes to change your outlook, so Bernadetta and I are setting aside time, starting with two evenings a week, where we will both be absolutely certain that she is speaking in her own interest. Not only so that she can get used to doing it, but so that I can be certain I am rewarding her efforts with praise and affection. Then, if she does fall back into old habits, or if I am accidentally too forceful in my opinions, it will also be easier to say: ah, well, that is why we have set aside time to practice a new way of thinking." He looked up at Hubert, his eyes shining with longing and sincerity and the last of his tears.

Hubert did the only reasonable thing and leaned down to kiss him.

Ferdinand wasn't having with it. He pulled back, scooting halfway across the bed, yelling, "Have you not been listening to me? Do you not understand what I did to her? I am repulsive!" He scrunched himself up into a ball, leaning his head over his knees and encircling it with his arms. "I deserve no affection at all."

Hubert put a hand on the back of his shoulder, careful of the stripe that was beginning to show in angry pink. "You are no such thing," he said as sternly as he could manage. "If I had known about your plan, I doubt I would even have tied you up in the first place. I can't pretend that you're some terrible brute who refuses to listen to his wife when you've set out to make it  _ easier for her to speak her mind around you than to stay obedient. _ Didn't you say, in the first place, that she hid it from you because she didn't want to upset you? What, exactly, are you claiming you've done wrong? You set out to protect her from a world that's so, so much more hazardous to her than it is to us; isn't it proof of your success that she cared about you enough to put your well-being ahead of hers? I mean, it would be one thing if she'd been afraid you would be angry, which would certainly not be unusual for her. But, no, she said she did it to protect you, to keep you from feeling guilty. That doesn't strike me as the motivation of a woman whose husband has been taking advantage of her. It strikes me as the sort of thing someone would say when she doesn't have the proper words for the affection and devotion she feels for you." He leaned over and kissed the back of Ferdinand's head, hoping he wouldn't flee again. When Ferdie didn't pull away, he put an arm around him and leaned his cheek against his shoulder.

They sat together like that for a while: Ferdinand with his knees drawn up, Hubert sitting against him for support as his right leg fell asleep, occasionally stroking Ferdinand's hair or gently rubbing a thumb over the top of his shoulder.

At last, Ferdinand shifted a bit. Hubert prepared to get up or change positions, but all he did was say, "I still feel I have not done enough. That she does not realize how considerate her husband should have been, and thinks I am so good only because she is comparing me to men like her father." His shoulders in Hubert's arms shrank down, so Hubert tightened his hold accordingly. Held him a little tighter, even. "I do not want her to settle for me simply because I was the first person who bothered to be nice to her."

Hubert sighed. He wasn't made for this kind of mediation; he was very likely to say the wrong thing at some point, and it would happen any moment now. After more than a normal conversational pause, he said, "You have been more than 'nice' to her, Ferdinand. You have worked tirelessly to keep her feeling safe and secure. Neither of you could control whether the marriage happened; should you have been expected to defy your parents at seventeen?”

At last, Ferdinand leaned toward Hubert, just a little. "That is why I say there is no single decision I regret," he reminded him. "I could not disobey, and neither could she. I do not regret the decisions I made to ensure her safety, or fighting in the War, and it makes no sense that I regret the times I lay with her when I had no way to know she felt it was her obligation. But I do regret that. It pains me very deeply. It-- leaves me with questions about the morality of lying with her now, and… And I feel very cowardly, because I am afraid to voice them for fear that she will think I do not  _ want _ her with every corner of my soul."

"She is a grown woman, Ferdinand," Hubert reminded him. "I know, when it comes to her asserting her own desires, there are always special circumstances, but we just got through discussing how clever and willful she is. If she wanted not to bed you, she would have found a way to make it unenjoyable. You would be thinking to yourself right now what a shame it is that she is so mediocre in bed, or something that similarly deterred you without making you blame her." He rose to kneel and draped himself over Ferdinand's back, his arms dangling over Ferdinand's shoulders. "She is screaming at you in every language she has that she adores you," Hubert said, just to be sure he was clear enough. "On top of that, she is verbally begging you for intimacy. Don't let yourself think that any fear she might have felt could take away her agency, because it never has. Not in Varley, not when she pushed you away in Gloucester, and not when she showed every kind of bravery at Garreg Mach." He kissed Ferdinand's soft, orange waves. "I would be just as worried, in your position, but do not pretend for a second that she is incapable of telling you exactly what she wants. She has held onto that ability through your entire marriage."

Ferdinand sighed and his shoulders fell, and Hubert slumped down with them. "She puts up with a lot, though," he said. Hubert took advantage of not being in his field of vision by rolling his eyes without being seen.

"And you have an extremely solid plan to fix that," he reminded Ferdinand. "With a practice schedule." He hugged Ferdinand tighter. "Look. However observant you wish you were, and however untrusting Bernadetta may be, was there any actual, plausible way for you to do anything about this before you knew about it?”

Ferdinand pulled Hubert's arms against his chest. Hubert imagined he was smiling despite his current gloom. He was proved wrong when Ferdinand spoke, sounding just as upset as before. "I knew she did it when she was upset," he said. "I knew-- that, when her father died, and she got mad at Lady Varley and stormed out, when she got home I told her I had mostly fixed it, and even the most cursory apology would repair things with her mother. When she came back downstairs, she was crying over her inability to face her mother, as if I had commanded her to apologize. So I knew it happened when she was upset. But all the time? Every day? No, I would never have thought. I thought she was happy with me."

"People can hold many disparate feelings inside themselves," Hubert reminded him. "Perhaps, while she was happy, she saw it as an expression of affection. That would put it in a very different context from an obligation, would it not?" Ferdinand was philosophizing too much. Hubert needed to steer him back to the two simple questions he  _ wanted _ to ask.

Ferdinand nodded.

"Alright, so we have established that there was no way for you to know it was happening before she told you. Is there anything about your response now that you feel is insufficient?" He nuzzled his cheek against Ferdinand's head. Ferdie wasn't usually so hard to comfort. He hoped Bernadetta wouldn't need time off work with the winter festivities making accurate intelligence all the more important.

"I  _ think _ it is enough," Ferdinand said slowly. "But I say 'I think' because I thought what I was doing before was enough, and it was not. It has never been my intention to let her suffer alone so that I can live in blissful ignorance, but that seems to be what she thinks I want. As if my comfort is more important than hers, which I know is what she was taught, but… It feels like she thought, when I tried time and again to help her recognize her own worth or stand up for herself, she thought of me as a naive boy with no understanding of how easy she made things for me. As if I would never want her for herself. So it breaks my heart in two directions, you see. The one, that she thinks so little of herself that she believes the only way to be wanted is to make herself agreeable and small, and the other, that after all this time she still thought that I was enough of a monster to want that."

He was shaking. His powerful, muscled back trembled under Hubert's weight, so Hubert pulled back and kissed the back of his shoulder, kept his hands on Ferdinand so he could feel whatever poor companionship Hubert could offer. "I think there was never any way for me to tie you up so effectively that you resolved this," he told his lover. "Because the problem isn't in you. It's somewhere between the two of you. I… When Edelgard returned, I felt much the same way." He had never told this story before. He had never wanted anyone to know besides himself and Edelgard. "I swore myself to her long before the Insurrection. She was… Do you remember her as a child? She was a spitfire." He didn't stop touching Ferdinand, kissing his arm and shoulder, waiting for him to unfold himself or at least turn around. "I tried to chase after her on my own when she was abducted. Got the worst whipping of my life for it and I still didn't regret it, even then, when I had no way of knowing what would happen to her. When she came back, though, and told me what had happened, what had been done to her… I could just about have murdered my father right then." He swallowed hard. He wasn't used to recalling such powerful memories, not now that there was peace. He didn't try to keep these wounds open as motivation anymore. "I was overcome by guilt. And fourteen years old, so my feelings were much more powerful than they had been. I made the mistake of thinking the guilt I felt was the same as an actual act of cruelty perpetrated against her -- after all, why would I feel so bad if I hadn't hurt her in some way? But, in reality, it was pulling away from her when she needed me that actually hurt her." He smiled. Leaned gently against Ferdinand's back, which had nearly stopped trembling. Things had been so simple, back before they'd even thought of overthrowing the Empire or the Church, back when they were just two children trying to recover from the pain the Seven had caused them. "We were young, and very straightforward, and when she cried and said she was afraid I was going to leave her because I obviously didn't care anymore, I wised up pretty quickly. Bernadetta is… Not just older, but much more subtle. But I think you should tell her how your guilt is eating you up. She's been doing this dance with you for seven years; she knows the steps, and she knows  _ you. _ And she loves you. And I wouldn't want your love for her to be the thing that breaks your marriage apart."

Ferdinand sniffled. Swallowed. Finally turned to Hubert with tearful eyes. "I only ever wanted to make her feel safe with me," he admitted. "I wanted to be someone she could trust, and if I had just looked beyond my own nose, she showed me time and again that she couldn't trust me. Not with anything important."

"Ferdinand, no," Hubert soothed, and Ferdinand finally came willingly into his arms. He cuddled the larger man against his chest and smoothed blackened hands over his hair. "We've discussed this. It isn't from any lack of affection. She weighs your approval very heavily. So heavily that the chance of disapproval or alienation becomes overwhelming. That is not from anything you've done, and it's nothing you can fix on your own. She spent seventeen years crafting habits that kept her safe in her father's house, that were desperately necessary for her. We know what he did to her when she was at her most compliant; if she had been more outspoken, he might well have killed her. I know seven years feels like a long time, but you've seen her, Ferdinand. On her bad days, she's right back there again, never mind the time that's passed, never mind that her father is  _ dead, _ she's still afraid of him like she lives in his house. That will never be your fault." He smirked. "Anyway, shouldn't we know a thing or two about pain that transcends time? It has been a year and a half since the War." He had dreams about every part of it. Dreams about his father, who had died six years ago instead of two months ago like Count Varley. Dreams of the first assault on Garreg Mach going horribly wrong, or of succeeding and finding all-too-familiar faces among the dead. It was no surprise if Bernadetta's dreams could take her one year earlier than that. If Hubert had learned in five years to check the sky every few minutes for wyverns and pegasi, regardless of whether there was any reason to, Bernadetta could learn her own over-cautious habits that had no bearing on her current reality. He knew, one day, he would pause during coffee break or a ride through the city and realize he hadn't thought about danger from the sky in hours. He knew, too, that there would come a time when Bernadetta would share her opinions frankly with her husband as soon as they occurred to her, without fretting or dithering first. But, for both of them, those days were far off.

There was no way for Hubert to clear Ferdinand's mind in a way that would resolve this. There was no rush from his body's response to pain that would rewrite the last seven and a half years of his life. The clarity Ferdinand was seeking would only come from long, difficult discussions full of painful mutual honesty, and also from working to resolve the issue. The only help Hubert could offer right now was comfort, so he stroked Ferdinand's hair, rubbed his back, spoke as gently to him as he knew how. He let Ferdinand cling to him like he was one of Bernadetta's stuffed bears. Tried not to think about how he had begged off a holiday party with his fiance for a family emergency, which had ended up being simply that Ferdinand needed to talk to his wife.

.-._.-._.-._

Tuesday was St. Cethleann Day Eve, but they had decided (or Ferdinand had determined -- he wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore) that they would begin their plan of Bernadetta putting her feelings forward twice a week immediately. They were relaxing in the parlor after dinner, Ferdinand reading and Bernadetta embroidering. She hummed holiday songs to herself as she worked.

"So, I'm supposed to just… j-just say whatever I think?" she confirmed, not looking up from her needlework.

"Yes, especially if it is something you are unsatisfied with," Ferdie confirmed. He didn't look up from his book, but he wasn't reading anymore. He schooled his face into a polite, neutral smile.

"Then, I… Well, if I'm supposed to say what I really think… I mean, it's your choice, of course, but I just think… I think you need to trim your hair!" She said that last bit a little louder and faster than the rest. "It's so thick and bright, but it looks dull from all the split ends, and you take such good care of yourself every other way, but when I see your hair, I think of how tired you were during the war, like it's some relic to your exhaustion, and… And you deserve better than that!"

It was such a surprising demand that Ferdinand couldn't do much more than stare at her and blink, even for a short moment after she was finished. Then he smiled. "I suppose… nobody ever taught me how to look after long hair," he admitted. He reached for her hand and she gave it to him. "I am very glad you told me this has been bothering you; I had not even realized there was anything wrong."

"That was alright?" Bernie asked, starting to get tearful. "I didn't h-hurt your feelings?"

"Oh, my sweet." He reached out and pulled her against his chest. "It was perfect. It would have been perfect even if you had said it much less kindly. Goodness, my darling, why would I ever be upset that you were concerned for my well-being?" She kept crying, so he continued: "The first time is always the most difficult, is it not? Not only giving criticism, mild as it was, but… But knowing you could have before, if only I had been more attentive to your needs."

"What? No!" She scrabbled back from him, and he let her go freely. "I was the one. I… liked the way things were going. And I didn't want to ruin it. I don't know how to be the kind of person who just says what she thinks. It feels like I'm being rude, or insolent, or disobedient. It feels really bad. But that's why you're helping me."

He took her hand again, and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. "And I will help you for as long as you need, my dove," he promised. "For as long as stating your own opinion upsets you." He smiled a little. "I was planning to ask if that was really so bad, but I suppose it was."

Bernie giggled at that, so he kissed her a few more times -- on the hand, the wrist, the mouth -- and complimented her hair while asking how to care for his own. He had asked for advice from his friends, before, but Dorothea just used whatever products were available, and Linhardt was in the same boat he was, and Petra had rattled off a list of foreign oils he'd never heard of, and it hadn't seemed a problem big enough to bring to Edelgard. He hoped his complete lack of background knowledge made Bernadetta feel very learned.

By the end of the conversation, she was in good spirits again, and even offered to trim his hair, insisting it was easy for long hair and she'd done it for her sisters before she left home.

.-._.-._.-._

"I have very exciting news for you this week," Bernie told her baby sister as they sat down to tea. "And an invitation for you, as soon as tomorrow, but next Sunday would work, too." She poured their tea and positioned her napkin on her lap. Sandy was looking at her dubiously. "I'm sure you've heard that the hearings over the new marriage laws are coming up. Looking at how the numbers stack up, and considering that the Emperor wants this change made, anyway, it will almost certainly happen, but it's such a divisive issue that giving people a chance to make their objections heard is important. Ferdinand and I are concerned that, after the hearings start, I won't be able to meet with you anymore like this because my opinions will be too obvious. But it wouldn't feel right to leave you trapped in that house, in more or less the position I was in before I got married."

"That isn't," Sandy protested. "They don't… I mean, you know: Mother at her worst is nothing like Father. ...Like Father  _ was, _ sorry."

"But she still isn't good," Bernie reminded her. "And it sounds like Ellie's joined in on it, too, and that doesn't sit right with me. It's a long time until the new year, if you're miserable the entire time. But I have a plan that will at least get you out of that house."

"Alright," Sandy said. "Shoot."

"My friend, Miss Laura Navarre, is going to marry Minister Vestra a little before the new year," Bernie told her, which hopefully wasn't news. "She's never had an assistant or a companion or anything like that, but with her wedding coming up, she could use some extra help. You could live at her aunt and uncle's house until the new year, when you'll be able to go to your squireship. Her uncle gets a little didactic, and her aunt is very nosy and likes to know everything about everybody, but they're very good people, and very friendly. You would be welcome there as your whole self." It was ridiculous that it was necessary to go to such lengths over a few affectionate letters, but regardless, Bernadetta would take all necessary precautions to protect her sister.

Sandy considered for a moment. "What was her family, before everyone started turning their holdings over to the crown?"

"A barony," Bernie answered, though it didn't seem very relevant. "Though I think her aunt and uncle were always unlanded."

Sandy grimaced. "You want me to play maidservant to a  _ baroness? _ Who do you think I am?"

"I want you to play maidservant to a future marquesa," Bernie corrected her. "One who could use some advice on how to  _ be _ a marquesa, because it was assumed she would marry a much less powerful gentleman. And I think you're a young woman who's going to be miserable and isolated in two weeks if you don't act quickly to find a different situation. I would take you on, myself, but you know Mother would never give either of us a moment's peace, and the whole thing would blow up in our faces. I want you to stay with someone who's trustworthy and kind, whose claim over you doesn't come from being family. If she asked the Emperor to take you back from me, the claim of a mother will hold over the claim of a sister and there would be nothing I could do to keep you here. But, if she tried the same thing at a house you went to as a willing adult, to do a job, that's laughable. There is no legal legitimacy to a claim like that one." She smiled at Sandy, and knew her smile was much too weak to be convincing. "This is the best protection I can get you, Sandy. You'll still be in Enbarr, you'll be living with good people, and we'll still be able to see each other, if you want. It isn't as much as I wish I could do, but I think it will do a good job of bridging the gap between now and the new year. I'm not suggesting that you remain as a lady's companion after this ends. I just wanted to find you a way out of that house."

Sandy looked down. Her cheeks were lighting up pink. Finally, she looked up at Bernie and asked, "Why does it have to be so hard?"

That was the crux of the issue: it didn't. Mother and Ellie could just decide that there was nothing wrong with Sandy and the problem would be solved. "I don't know," she admitted. "People look for power where they can find it, and they pick on people who are different even if the difference is harmless."

"They have power! Ellie has the Adrestian Ministry of Religion under her guidance! How much power could a person even want?"

"There are all kinds," Bernie said. "I don't want to speculate. Will you do this for me, Sandy? It would give me so much peace of mind to know you were somewhere safe until April." It would also reassure Ferdinand, Hubert, Laura, and Laura's aunt and uncle, who all necessarily knew about Sandy's situation. "You only need to come back here tomorrow at one, or next Sunday if you can't make tomorrow, so you and Laura can meet each other."

Sandy nodded. Bernie knew better than to assume it was an agreement. At best, she was finally considering it seriously. "And what do I tell Mother?" she asked. "I'm second in line for control of a county; why should I need to be a companion?"

"There are lots of good reasons," Bernie told her. "Any reason you can give that sounds true will work. But, for Mother and Ellie, I think the best thing to say is that you have only just come out, and Miss Navarre will be going to lots of parties and events to establish herself in our corner of society so nobody will feel she is a stranger or an intruder after her marriage. She has very generously offered to take you out with her because she knows Mother and Eleonora are still busy sorting out Father's affairs, and she thought she might be able to do me a favor, as her friend, while also ensuring she is never seen alone at the sort of events where an unmarried young woman should not be seen alone." She lowered her voice to add, "And, if you can bear to say it, you might also mention that you are trying to move on from Miss Daisy and would welcome the distraction, but only say it if they won't leave you alone about it, so they'll think they've pulled the real, secret reason out of you."

"I would never," Sandy protested. "I thought the whole point of this was so I wouldn't have to!”

"It is," Bernie soothed. "It still is. But, if Mother and Ellie think you will be looking for attention from young gentlemen, they might see it as a type of reform. Turning over a new leaf. It is only a little white lie, Sandy. It is not a commitment. You will not be signing it in blood."

Sandy looked at her for a few moments, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are you so committed to this?" she asked at last. "Why are you this worried? It's only a few months."

Now, it was time for Bernie's real, secret reason. "I know what Mother is capable of," she reminded Sandy. "I know what she did to me, and I know what she failed to do on my behalf when I needed her. I have no reason to believe she feels any remorse for how she treated me, or for how she allowed me to be treated. If Ellie is taking after her, I can't stand by and say I did nothing when I had the same choice. I can't live with myself if I make the decision to stand by when someone I love is treated horribly. I refuse to make excuses and pretend it is none of my concern. Do you understand?" She would start crying soon, if she had to explain further.

"I don't want to understand," Sandy admitted. "I don't want to know it, I don't want to  _ think _ about it, I just want… I just want to go to my squireship in the Spring."

"You will," Bernie promised her. "You will learn all the important things and become a great knight, I just know it. But please, until it starts, let me be the one to protect you. Accept Miss Navarre's offer, and enter the new year with your head held high and lots of good memories. You do not owe loyalty to people who treat you badly, who estrange you for fabricated reasons." It had taken Bernie much too long to figure that out. It was something she could only figure out while living with someone as kind and warm as Ferdinand. Even his father had been friendly and inviting from the start. It had never occurred to Bernadetta that anybody would ever act like they wanted her around, not to get something out of her, but just because. "And I think… My life improved so much when I came here after I married, all because I was surrounded by people who wanted to welcome me into their family instead of people who thought that my having a personality or an opinion was a flaw that should be trained out of me. I want you to spend some time surrounded by people who think well of you, who want you to succeed for your own sake. The marriage hearings are bound to bring out the worst in Mother and in Eleonora. Let them be angry together, in solidarity, instead of taking their anger out on you. There will not be any harm in that, and in the meantime, you can have a real social life and get all the gossip first-hand about a highly anticipated wedding."

"I'll do it," Sandy promised. "I'll be here tomorrow, at one. I'll… I'll be her companion. Because Mother and Ellie are just so busy, with the Ministry and the end of the fiscal year, and I just want to go to some parties."

"Exactly like that," Bernie confirmed, smiling in earnest now. "It will be a very good decision, I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter, you'll get to meet Hubert's aunts and uncles, AND his teenage cousin!


	28. Houseguests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert’s aunts and their families come to visit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hubert’s talked about his aunts and how overbearing/intrusive they are for the better part of a year now, so I’m really excited you finally get to meet them! It's been a while since he's talked about them, so as a refresher: Hubert's concerned his aunts will be intimidated by him because of his similarities to his father.
> 
> A little family tree explanation: Hubert’s oldest aunt is Yanni and her husband is Morris von Bergliez, who isn’t anywhere near the line of succession, and they have two children. His younger aunt is Clara, whose husband is Siegmond (Sieg) von Morgaine, and they have three children. Their youngest, Liliana, is 16 and still lives at home, so she also comes with them to Hubert's house. Hubert’s mother, Celia, was the youngest of the three and died when Hubert was four. The story Hubert’s always heard was that she became sickly after her second birth, but as you know, he’s deeply suspicious of that narrative. His little brother, Heinrich, died just a few months before their mother, when he was only two and a half years old, and his death wasn’t suspicious at all, just sad.

Bad news came in sets, Hubert was well aware. Most people said threes, but he could never be mistaken for an optimist.

After attempting to wrest control of his Ministry back after Bernadetta had put the country's fate in her coworkers' hands (she was entirely too correct about the way she'd handed off responsibilities that should have been his -- everyone agreed the department ran smoothly and the type of work they were doing agreed with them, which was  _ infuriating)  _ he and Laura had finally had a chance, only yesterday, to sit down with a marriage lawyer to begin drafting their pre-marital agreement. Laura had grumbled about the normal suggestions and been scandalized by the Vestra Amendment, which concerned  _ unusual _ untimely deaths, and how to tell them apart from normal accidents or medical problems. It also detailed how to handle other events, like kidnappings, incapacitation, and credible death threats. Even at a glance, the lawyer had told them the whole thing would have to be rewritten to comply with and reference current law, but the sentiment was clear.

It didn't really matter if Laura was mad about the type of agreement that a marquis and a younger daughter of a baron would need; Hubert was mad about it, too, but it was still necessary. Ultimately, it protected both of them. Laura would be untouchable by him, and maybe she would be less insulted by the idea once he told her what he suspected his father had done to his mother.

Today, his aunt Yanni came to town. Tomorrow, surely, another disaster would strike. Today, he sat in his parlor on a rare afternoon off and failed to convince himself that double-checking his choice of teapot and teacups, changing the amount of tea he'd prepared by three or four leaves at a time, and straightening all the elements of the tea service were all just his usual, precise nature and not remotely comparable to when Ferdinand did all the exact same things when he was worried over something. Hubert simply had less experience preparing and serving tea, and he hadn't seen Yanni since he was four, and he wanted to make a good first impression as an adult.

He caught himself rearranging his hair, trying to smooth his cowlicks and fluff his bangs, and he folded his hands tensely in his lap. Aunt Yanni and Uncle Morris would be living with him, not judging his fashion sense. He took a deep breath. Focused on the sounds around him: the street noise outside; the fire far to his left; the faint sound of Mrs. Tibball in the kitchen telling one of her improbably funny jokes to Miss Hreva, the maid, and Mr. Roddick, the driver. The extremely different tones and paces of their laughter.

The kitchen door opened. Quick, tapping footsteps in the hall, and Miss Hreva swept in, still smiling like she was trying not to laugh. "Is everything still alright in here?” she asked as she went to the fireplace. "You can go and do whatever you like, m'lord; I can come get you when they arrive." She hefted another log onto the fire. Grabbed the poker and nudged the ones that were already there.

Hubert just grunted and looked down, wishing she was new to his household so she wouldn't know how to read the nerves in every line of his body. Wishing she was scared of him, like so many people were (and like none of his servants were), so she wouldn't say something reassuring and banal in her cheerful, friendly voice, all but ignoring his foul mood.

"Well, I guess you'll be ready for them when they come," she said, and casually rearranged a throw blanket Hubert had laid symmetrically over a couch so that it draped artfully down one side, instead. "Remember, theirs is the room across from yours because they wanted the morning sunlight, and then Mr. and Mrs. von Morgaine will be two rooms down from you so the couple can be next door to their daughter."

Hubert said, "Thank you, I'll remember," and didn't say "because I'm the one who drew up the room chart in the first place." The maid bobbed a little curtsy and left, and he heard her footsteps tap-tap-tap up the stairs, probably so she could say she had double-checked that everything was ready if he got even more irrational about it. Hubert forced himself to take another deep breath.

He heard a carriage outside, but he'd had two false alarms already because of loud vehicles or badly shod horses that made too much noise. Still, he stood and looked out the window, and yes, that was a carriage in his front drive. It was happening now.

He stood and straightened his jacket, then his posture, then his jacket again. He put a sad approximation of an agreeable smile on his face and strode out to the front hall, where he opened the door just as the horses were starting to slow.

“Uncle,” he greeted as the carriage door opened. “You’re early. Made good time, I trust?” Uncle Morris stepped down and helped Aunt Yanni down, and turned to shake Hubert’s hand, confirming that it had been a pleasant trip.

He wasn’t the one Hubert was worried about. He wasn’t the one who had berated Hubert for four years via post and then invited himself to Hubert’s house.

“Auntie, it’s been so long,” Hubert said. He barely recognized her. He knew she was notably shorter than his father, and his father was a hair’s breadth shorter than him, but the last time they had seen each other, she had been able to pick him up easily. Now, she came up to shoulder height on him. Her violet hair was heavily streaked with gray and the fine wrinkles on her face looked very austere and judgmental. She had grown into a wider, matronly figure, which was kept in a very severe shape by tailoring the likes of which was surely beyond Hubert’s imagining.

“It certainly has,” she agreed, bustling up to him. “Goodness, you’ve grown. Let me look at you.” She hugged him quickly, giving him no window to hug her back, and pulled away to peer up at him like he was a rare animal in a menagerie. "I suppose your eyes never righted themselves?" she asked, and reached up and brushed his bangs away from his bad eye, an insult that Hubert only suffered from doctors and, apparently, family. "We all told Celia to be more careful before you were born, but she was always so headstrong."

"She can hardly help that she got Srengi measles," Hubert pointed out, pulling away and finger-combing his hair back into place. "I manage well enough."

"Yes, and you've managed to make yourself look all brooding and mysterious just to cover up a lazy eye," Yanni added.

"Please, Aunt Yanni," Hubert chided, smiling. "I never do anything for only one reason. It's also to make me look brooding and mysterious. Now, please, come inside; it’s freezing out here.” The carriage was already moving on to the stable. As he led his relations inside, he added, "There should be tea ready inside; we can wait for your things to be brought up." He put a very gentle hand on the back of his aunt's arm and herded them both inside. Miss Hreva was back downstairs, waiting to take their coats and other outerwear.

A quick glance at the table showed that someone had been through to empty the tea leaves into the pot, and certainly to fill it with water after. Hubert, entirely unsure of what to talk about, sat and ate a spiced wafer he didn't really like, just to show that the snacks were completely available. "I heard the weather in Bergliez was particularly harsh this year," he said, testing the waters. How long had it been since he'd made small talk with no ulterior motives? He didn't even need to make them feel comfortable, though of course he intended to. He just needed to stall them so they could warm up and wait for their things to be taken upstairs, but it wasn't even a  _ stall, _ just a… polite conversation. With his aunt and uncle. Who he hadn't seen in twenty-two years.

There  _ had _ to be some goal he could give himself, no matter how contrived. But he wouldn't want them to feel like it was an interrogation when--

"Oh, just terrible," Yanni agreed. "And the first cold snap nearly did for the barley harvest; it was terrifying! Especially after all that talk of famine in the Midlands. There was frost on the ground at the harvest fair. The weather improved for a while after, but it certainly was a fright. It will definitely be nice to be here for a time."

"Good season for fish, though," Uncle Morris added. "Is there any sport to be had in Enbarr? The city always seemed a bit too closed-in to me."

They were only here for a few months. Hubert could have prayed to the Goddess in thanks that, at the very least, they would leave in the new year. "Naturally," he said, instead of admitting that he had never thought to research it, since he found bloodsports almost as horrifying as lawn sports, and tended to look for excuses  _ not _ to go riding. "The Prime Minister goes riding every morning his schedule allows, and I believe he occasionally goes for polo not fifteen minutes outside the city walls." More often, he would play a casual game with friends at the Palace. Flames, entertaining his family from out of town was going to be a logistical nightmare. "I can certainly look into things for you." Or maybe, Uncle Morris could enjoy his city vacation, away from his usual routines. That sounded like a better option, and yet, here they were.

"Oh, but we haven't asked after the most important thing," Aunt Yanni interrupted, thank the Goddess. "When will you be able to introduce us to Miss Navarre?"

"Er-- we had not discussed a date," Hubert told her. "I didn't know if you would need to rest after your journey, and she didn't want to interrupt if we needed some time to get properly reacquainted…" Why was he on the defensive in every part of this conversation? Was he the third in line for the throne of Adrestia, or was he a child who couldn't even stand up for himself against a woman twenty-odd years older than himself? "And, besides that, I thought she might want a day or two to cool down. We only managed to see a lawyer yesterday about the legal agreement we're entering into before the wedding, and there is a specific set of clauses that House Vestra tends to include which are based on particularly grim worst-case scenarios, and she--"

"Oh, the Vestra amendment?" his aunt interrupted again. "You can't have dragged that old thing out, can you? I thought this was your new age, your new beginning. Of course you frightened her with it; what sort of legal agreement lays out such specific rules in the case one of you is kidnapped? What sensible person signs a life-long agreement with stipulations for 'in case I get poisoned only  _ nearly _ to death and turn into a vegetable'? Poor Celia was practically in hysterics when she read it! I thought you were more sensible than that, Hubert; a marriage contract shouldn't have to be a replacement for a living will. Or any type of will."

That was a good point; he would have to update his will before the wedding. "I am only trying to put in place the same measures my ancestors found useful," he said. "I just want all my bases covered legally so that we can enjoy all the things you actually  _ do _ in a marriage. The entire point is that, once the agreement is signed, we can forget about it. Because I  _ do _ want her to be safe and well cared for if I'm incapacitated without being killed. I don't want there to be any debate over my intentions when this agreement was signed. If the eventualities I need to prepare for are different from what other wealthy gentlemen have to worry about, that is the entire point of amending our agreement."

"I'll have to take a look at that," his uncle said, which was not terribly reassuring coming from the family member he'd already asked to read over the agreement before he signed it. "If it really is that distressing, there must be better ways to do it."

Hubert hardly knew enough about law to get creative with it; he could say what had to happen in plain terms, or translate between legal and plain words, but the finer points of the law were neither his job nor his interest, so he certainly lacked finesse. So he just said, "I will look forward to hearing your opinions." That was where he should leave it, right? Time to change the subject. "But that can certainly wait; how was your trip?"

"Oh, you know how it was," Aunt Yanni complained. "Cold, bumpy-- and, with frost and snow everywhere, it all looks the same!"

Hubert smiled a little. "I hope you will find your room nice and cozy," he told her. "Enbarr has nice, mild winters and your room should get plenty of light." They'd only had a few inches of snow that year, and only a few days of ice, nothing like the miserable weather he'd endured in his school days. Getting snowed into the same building as Caspar von Bergliez and Hilda Goneril was an experience he never needed to repeat. "In the meantime, would you like some tea? This is my favorite, a cinnamon-spice blend." He gestured to the still-steaming teacups he'd put in front of them. With his luck, one of them would be allergic to cinnamon and they were all about to have a horrible evening. (Was a cinnamon allergy a real thing? Was it even worth worrying about? They were both drinking the tea now; should he ask them to stop? What kind of complete and total idiot did he have to be, to think he could play the good, welcoming host? He was probably going to unintentionally poison his guests before the week was out, and everyone in the Empire would think it was on purpose, and he'd never be trusted to have guests over again.)

(Goddess, was this how Bernadetta felt all the time? How demeaning, to know your concerns were so meritless, but still worry about them like they were serious.)

"Well, you may as well come out with it," Aunt Yanni said when she'd already had a sip of tea. That was good. Not immediately asphyxiating was good. His mind was just playing ridiculous tricks on him. "What sort of strange rules will you ask us to follow in your house?"

Hubert let out some of the air in his lungs and some of the tension in his shoulders. Hopefully, he was no stranger than he was expected to be. "I do ask that you not go into my office," he told her. "I set hexes on the doors when I leave. And, if you are ever in my office, it is safest not to touch the drawers of my desk; it has its own magic. I ask that you not eavesdrop, and I will likewise do my best not to say anything sensitive where you might hear it accidentally. Snooping of any kind is not very safe in this house. But, if you keep to your room and the downstairs area, you should have no trouble. Oh, and sometimes you may see people who look out of place here. They are my agents, so don't worry. I'll speak to them in my office. Do your best not to remember their faces."

After a moment, his aunt asked, "Is that all?"

"Would you like me to come up with something more elaborate?" he asked. "I mean, I would ask that you not enter my room without asking, or act rude my servants, or break my things, but no one will die if you do." He had a sip of his tea. It did taste nice, but he would still have preferred coffee. "I'm not in the business of setting extra rules just to sound ominous. Apologies if you were expecting more of a flair for the dramatic. One of my recent desk hexes was a hand made of dark energy that pulls you into the desk and then pushes you back out, and I haven't tested how much it breaks the desk versus how much it breaks people's bones. The ones currently surrounding it are no less nasty. I just thought I would sum up by saying 'don't go in that room' and 'don't touch my desk.'

"Now, see here, Bertie, you can't just go around saying things like that," Uncle Morris cut in. "That's very nearly a threat."

Hubert's brain had gone half-blank at the use of his childhood nickname. How long had it even been since he'd used it? Since he was eight, however long that was. He smiled dispassionately and said, "When I summarize, I am accused of not doing enough to ensure your safety, and when I specify, it is a threat." That was inaccurate, but the inaccuracy was on their part: when he warned them not to touch his work things, that was also a threat. "I suppose I just don't know how to strike a balance between 'threatening enough to be listened to' and 'so threatening, I scare my aunt and uncle.'" Thank goodness he was having this conversation before his sixteen-year-old cousin arrived tomorrow; he wouldn't want to scare her.

"Well, frankly, that's part of why we came," Aunt Yanni reminded him. "I know you and your father weren't close, but I did hope he had at least taught you some social basics. After all, he--"

"I have just discovered a new rule," Hubert told her. "When possible, please don't mention my father around me." What did it help that he was dead if his memory could be dredged up so easily?

No. It did help that he was dead. He couldn't hurt anyone now. But it wasn't enough.

He hated the pity in his aunt's eyes as she looked at him. "I think our things are upstairs now," she said. She had another sip of her tea, and grabbed a spice cookie but didn't eat it. "After such a bumpy ride, I think I'd like to lie down for a bit. When should we be ready for dinner?"

"Er-- seven," Hubert told her. Was she actually giving him a graceful out from this conversation? Just for hating his father? "I don't usually dress for it, living alone. You can do as you like. Here, let me show you upstairs."

He walked with them up the stairs and showed them where his office and bedroom were, where Clara and Sieg and Liliana would sleep, and finally, showed them into their own bedroom and made sure they were properly settled in, offering to get his aunt some water or some herbal tea for her stomach while the nervous part of his brain screamed that he really had poisoned her.

He wasn't surprised to see Miss Hreva clearing the tea service when he came back downstairs; she'd explained to him ages ago that the stairs echoed into the kitchen, and if he could hear her and his aunt and uncle's driver walking up and down the stairs from the parlor, she was certainly able to hear him and his aunt and uncle from the kitchen. "Thank goodness someone likes those things," he said as she popped a cookie into her mouth. "They're too sweet for me, my aunt is ill from the drive, and I  _ think _ my uncle has the honey disease, though no one ever mentions it."

"It does tend to run in the Bergliez line," Miss Hreva corroborated. "Do you want the rest of your tea?"

Hubert shrugged, drank the rest of it while putting the saucer on the tray, and put his cup down next to the others. "Just keep me informed about when you'll need help," he told her. "I'd rather hire sooner than later."

"Just these two groups won't be so bad," she assured him. "Mrs. Tibball feels the same way. We'll just need help when more family starts to arrive, and for you to not be surprised when your food and laundry costs go up."

"Good. But the offer is there, and remember to start hiring about a month before you need help, so I can do my part to ensure they're safe to have here." They'd had this conversation before. She probably remembered it better than he did.

"Don't worry, m'lord; I'm no martyr," Miss Hreva said, and popped another cookie into her mouth before picking up the tea tray. "Come meet their driver; he seems nice."

It was completely immaterial to Hubert how 'nice' the driver was, or how much his maid intended to flirt with him, but he did like to meet everyone who came into his house. He followed her into the kitchen.

When he walked in, the man -- young-ish, and trim, and swarthy, and entirely too attractive for Hubert to trust Miss Hreva around him -- was leaning against the hearth, holding a mug of tea, and he only straightened up after he realized Hubert was there. He bowed his head and said, "M'lord," and it was almost comical.

"Oh, don't bother," Hubert told him, because he wasn't looking for all servants to act perfect all the time; he just wanted to know that the man wasn't a known foreign agent who had infiltrated his aunt's house in order to infiltrate Hubert's house, and he didn't look remotely familiar. "I just like to know who's in my house. Take your time warming up; we're in a cold snap." If he wanted to feel like he was better than other people, he would have kept a larger household staff, and he would definitely have asked more of them. "Mrs. Tibball, Miss Navarre will probably be here in two days, or whenever she stops hating me for being a Vestra, and if you could make that almond chicken dish she likes, I'd appreciate it -- I'll keep you updated." She responded, but he ignored it, rambling to himself. "If you need me, I'll be--" Cowering? Hiding? Reading? Having a lie-down? "I'll be in my room for a bit."

Well, that was everyone in his house he'd embarrassed himself in front of. If he kept a larger household, maybe he could have set a record. As soon as they heard his footsteps go up the stairs, they'd be talking about how nervous he'd been all day. Hell, the driver (flames, Hubert hadn't even asked his name) had probably already heard a very exaggerated story about Hubert's nerves. Or, worse, an entirely accurate story about Hubert's nerves. He needed some coffee. He needed to not have some coffee. He needed-- he probably just needed to lie down for a while.

He took his jacket off and went to his bookshelf to look for something comforting, something to take his mind off what was happening in his house and in his life.  _ A Treatise on the Role of Geometric Features in Runology _ would do. He lay down with the book properly close to his face and tried not to think about Linhardt asking when he was going to stop being such a stubborn ass and just get some spectacles. He was more certain than ever that he'd poisoned his aunt.

.-._.-._.-._

_ Hubert, my darling, my love, etc., _

_ I realize I got pretty upset the other day. I hope you know it wasn't at you. (I expect you probably think it was at you.) You know very well how unusual House Vestra is; as obvious as it is to me, I realize we haven't actually talked about how I might need time to adjust to some things you think are normal. Like raising the topic of poisoning or kidnapping as a prelude to marriage, as a cursory part of writing a financial agreement. _

_ I just want to say it clearly: it isn't you. You're taking the precautions you need to to keep both of us safe, and if I were in your position, I would do the same. But I'm still mad that it's necessary, and that isn't something that can be fixed, except with a little more time. _

_ Are we still on for tonight? I'll assume we are unless I hear otherwise. I can't wait to meet your aunts! _

_ Yours, _

_ Laura Navarre _

_ P.S. My meeting with Sandy von Varley went great! She'll need a few days to pack and talk to her mother, but she'll be here when the talks start. _

.-._.-._.-._

_ My dear Laura, _

_ I'm certainly glad to hear it isn't me you're mad at. My uncle Morris plans to take a look at it, and there's a possibility it will become an amendment to my will, or something of that nature that's already grim. I will expect you before seven. _

_ Are you looking to collect teenagers? My cousin Liliana arrived yesterday with Clara and Siegmond, and I'm worried she'll snoop where she shouldn't. She keeps asking about my hexes and the magic I used in the War, and using big words because she thinks they make her sound knowledgeable. I can't figure out if I should try to teach her a thing or two beyond what the books she can find in Morgaine can teach her, or if I should just humor her and let her describe things I already know in detail. Maybe I should leave books sitting around? I just want to make sure she doesn't try to get into my office, and I'm considering changing the hex on my door so she won't die if she tries. I don't want to have to explain to my aunt and uncle that their sweet, precious daughter is at death's door because of some normal teenage curiosity. If you find that Miss Sandy von Varley is too much of a handful, I imagine she and my cousin could entertain each other very effectively, possibly for several hours. It will just have to be at your house or a third location, because my house is clearly not safe for inquisitive young people. _

_ I'm looking forward to seeing you. Please don't judge my aunts too harshly; they can be a bit overbearing, but I think it's because they miss their sister. They want to ensure there will be something of their family in me. Just remember: they will be here for a few months, but our marriage will be for the rest of our lives. _

_ That even sounded ominous to me. Perhaps I need more sleep. Let me restate the actual point of this letter: I was glad to receive your letter, and I will expect you a little before seven. _

_ Yours, _

_ Hubert von Vestra _

.-._.-._.-._

If there was anything Hubert hated, it was being late to his own party. But Liliana clung to him like a leech, and she kept touching the door of his study as she asked questions about it, and even when he finally convinced her to go get dressed for dinner, she knocked on Hubert's door five minutes later, while he was still trying to get his ascot tied properly (there was a reason he didn't wear the damned things during the day, unlike a certain Prime Minister he knew) and he, an idiot, answered his door not realizing that an only-mostly-dressed teenage girl was about to push past him into his own room, asking even more questions about dark magic and runes. Hubert, due to his very particular upbringing, knew more about how to dress a teen girl than he knew about how to tie and pin an ascot, so he sent her to get her hairbrush and a jacket, promising he'd find her a book on runology, and was only short his outer jacket when she returned. He grabbed the runology book from his nightstand and sat his cousin down at the vanity, where he got her started doing all the buttons on her jacket (because, really, who wore a skirt and blouse to dinner? That was barely acceptable in Summer, much less Guardian Moon) before he brushed her hair out and gave her a cute, simple hairstyle that she could take down herself that evening.

"But, if symmetry is so powerful, then why are seven points stronger than six?" Liliana asked as Hubert finished tying up her hair.

"Radial symmetry is a type of symmetry," he reminded her as he grabbed his jacket. "I heard Miss Navarre arrive a few minutes ago; do you have gloves?"

"Right here," she said, and pulled some flimsy little crocheted lace things out of her pocket. "You're even fussier than Mother. But that still makes no sense, because sixes have symmetry by twos  _ and _ threes, but sevens are only divisible by seven."

"Yes, but you seem to be forgetting the inherent power of prime numbers," Hubert reminded her. "Exponents and primes are the real name of the game." He shut the book in front of her and went to his door expectantly. "So, a six? Oh, small potatoes. But you would certainly be in business with an eight, for being two times two times two, or a seven, for having no-- are you coming?-- for having no roots at all, but they would be powerful for opposite reasons."

Liliana skipped out of his room and Hubert locked the door. "What about fives?" she asked. "A lot of lower-level spells have fives…"

"Fives are absolutely fine," Hubert told her as they started down the stairs. "Plenty of perfectly respectable runes have five spokes. They are sturdy and solid and dependable, and a spell with five or six spokes will almost never get away from you, or hurt you on the rebound." He nodded to her before they entered the parlor and she went in first. "You start with spells built on fours, fives, and sixes. You use them to get a feel for the magic. But now you'll understand: when I ask you not to touch the door of my study, I mean--"

Laura's laugh interrupted him, high and clear. "Nooo, look, when my mother got married, she wore  _ her _ mother's dress,  _ and _ she's shorter than me, and it would all be a big disaster!"

"Oh, but you know how to lengthen a wedding dress, don't you?" Yanni asked. "You add a little silk ruffle or a lace trim. It ends up absolutely charming!"

Laura snorted. "And, you know, Hubert has not one, but two extremely close friends who absolutely have nicer wardrobes than me -- I've been to dinner with Lady Aegir and her dress was nicer than anything I own, for a night in! And both she and the Emperor are these tiny, little waifish things! They are completely unable to help when you're looking for a fancy dress and you're five foot nine with broad shoulders."

"You might be a little careful about calling the Emperor of Adrestia 'waifish,'" Hubert pointed out, sitting down next to her.

"Hubert, with all due respect to her being a firebrand and a literal emperor: I haven't been her height since I was twelve, and it's been even longer since I was her size." Laura nestled in next to him, acting affectionate and warm. "I was just telling your aunties how glad I am to have lived in Enbarr so long, so I know where to go for a dress."

"Um." Had he thrown away  _ any _ of his parents' things? Had… Had his father thrown his mother's things away? He was pretty sure the clothing bags in his father's wardrobe had been… "How tall was my mother?"

His aunts both startled. It was a bad question. It was too blunt, and his mother was dead, and he was too young to understand death when it happened.

Yanni recovered first. Her eyes widened and she said, "The height is similar enough, but that seems a bit morbid, don't you think, Hubert?"

"I don't think it's morbid," Laura said immediately. "That could be really touching, for me to have a remembrance of your mother."

"I think her wedding dress was light blue," Hubert told her. "I have a picture, but I don't display it because they're both in it."

"Light blue with pearls," Clara told him. "Our parents spared no expense. We all thought, when Yanni married, that was it; we were all safe. Then Celia met the Marquis of Vestra, and she and Yanni made jokes through the whole engagement that she'd only done it to one-up her big sister."

"I haven't," Hubert said, and his throat caught. "I went through his room after his death, for documents and secret hiding places." He had taken his mother's opera glasses from the nightstand his father didn't use. He had searched the vanity for poisons and found a perfume he was surprised he remembered, and kept that, too. "I haven't been back. There were clothing bags in the wardrobe, and I would say they were his winter clothes except that he kept his winter clothes in the linen closet and I remember seeing a woman's gloves sitting next to his, a woman's stockings… I think he just never got rid of her things." Like the opposite of how Hubert had refused to acknowledge his father, even in death. He would have interacted with her memory every day of his life. Probably, some days it had felt like she was away on a trip and some days it had felt unbearable.

"Ooh, is there a hex on his room, too?" Liliana asked, because she was young and curious.

"No," Hubert said simply. "I just don't like to think about him if I don't have to. Between the War and my Ministry, I haven't had the time."

"What, are you afraid of him or something?" Liliana taunted, because she was young. Both her parents said her name sharply, but she was already saying, "I mean, why would you be afraid when you killed him?"

"I'm so sorry," Uncle Sieg said. "Liliana, that was completely inappropriate. Apologize to your cousin."

"It isn't like it's a secret," Hubert pointed out. He probably looked pale. He wanted to leave the room. He was grateful that Laura took his hand. "Your uncle Diedrick was the worst human being I have ever known. He knowingly allowed Lady Edelgard and all her siblings to be kidnapped and tortured. Experimental blood magic was performed on them until all but her died. That was why I killed him. Fear was never even a factor. When I remember him, I remember Lady Edelgard convalescing for nearly a year after her return. I remember her waking up screaming in the night. I remember that I knew eleven Hresvelg children once, all of them bold and strong, and the only one who returned to me was a frail little girl who jumped at her own shadow. If I went into my father's room, I would remember that he lived here in state and comfort while he allowed ten children to be tortured to death. I would think of the Emperor when she was just a little younger than you, still too weak to brush her own hair. Does that answer your questions about why I don't want to enter his room?"

Liliana nodded, looking very chastened. She touched her hair, probably realizing that that was why Hubert knew how to style hair.

Hubert nodded and looked down. He hadn't meant to ruin everyone's mood. They were supposed to be talking about wedding dresses. He said, "I'll be back in a moment," and left. Told Laura he just needed a moment alone when she tried to chase after him. Found himself staring down a very familiar door.

There was no hex on the door of the master bedroom in Vestra House. The only evil that kept Hubert from entering was the memory of Diedrick von Vestra. The part of him that knew taking dares from little girls was beneath him warred with the part that thought he was ridiculous to build his father up into more of a threat than he was. They both fought with the part of him that… that was afraid of his father. The part that was scarred and stunted and unfulfilled because of the things his father had done.

He put a hand on the doorknob. It creaked after so long. He would have to ask Miss Hreva to look at the unused rooms at least once a year for basic maintenance like oiling hinges and doorknobs and polishing furniture.

His father's room was different from when he'd last seen it. The furniture was covered with undyed cloth and the floors were dusty. It was as if all the furniture had been turned to ghosts. He went to the wardrobe and pulled the covering cloth up, took a deep breath, and opened the doors.

It was almost like a normal wardrobe. There were shirts and suits on the right, cloaks, waistcoats. Hubert's father hadn't had an extensive wardrobe, but he had all the trappings of a marquis. On the left were bulky wardrobe bags, each with multiple hangers peeking out of the top. Hubert searched the first one, the rightmost one, looking for the color he hoped was there. Some people kept their wedding dress elsewhere, after they grew out of it. His mother had borne two children -- had she put her wedding dress away in a sentimental place?

It was in the last bag he looked in. Powder blue satin pooled in the bottom of the bag. Hubert pulled the whole group out and had difficulty separating the one hanger from the rest. The dress fell down while he tried, and he pulled it out of the bottom of the wardrobe bag. At last, he hung it back up on its hanger: an older style, very of-its-time but still entirely salvageable. And, when he held it just below shoulder height, it only hung a few inches off the floor. He smiled and hung it over his right arm, the hanger in his right hand, like when he used to carry Edelgard's dresses. He closed the doors of the wardrobe and pulled the sheet back over it. Closed the door quietly on his way out and went to his bedroom. Hung the dress over the door of his own wardrobe and threw himself on his bed like it hadn't been the simplest task in the world to go into that room and retrieve one article of clothing.

If it was so simple and easy, then why was he burying his face in a pillow when he should have rejoined his family downstairs? And why did his face feel so hot, and his hands so shaky, and his shoulders so tense? Why did he shudder as he remembered Bernadetta holding him and rubbing her tender hands across his shoulders and telling him that she didn't blame him for what had been done to him any more than he blamed her for the things that had been done to her?

Why was he still afraid of a father who had died six years ago?

Edelgard had been so small. She had been small when she was taken, the way any child two years younger than you was small, and Hubert had always been tall for his age to begin with. She had been a different kind of small when she came back. Scrawny, malnourished, delicate when she had always been robust. It was like her very bones were smaller. Her hair was thin and dry, and it came in white, like she had aged decades in the few years she'd been away. Hubert's father had done that. He had allowed it. And Hubert went into his room on a dare from a child.

He sniffled and told himself it was ridiculous to cry. What would it serve? What would it improve? There was no point to it.

"There is something in you that needs to come out," Bernadetta had said, and held his face against her shoulder. "Cry it out. Let yourself be free of it." He didn't want to, now that she wasn't here. It didn't feel real when her voice was in his head and the only hands that could soothe him were his own.

There was a knock at the door. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd said he needed "a moment," but it had definitely been several minutes. "Hubert? Dinner's ready when you are," Laura said gently. "Are you alright?"

Hubert sniffed and sat up. "Sorry. Yes. I'll be out in just a moment." He smoothed his clothes and went to wash his face. It was hardly the time to fall apart; he had company over.

"Are you sure? It's alright if you're not," Laura said. She was right, of course; as much as his aunts nitpicked at every imperfection and misstep normally, everyone would understand if he needed more time. But Hubert would hate it. He didn't like being condescended to, didn't want their understanding and tenderness when he had tried to become a person who would never need either. He pressed cold water over his eyes and cheeks and trusted the redness would fade fairly quickly. He should have done like Ferdinand and gotten some powder for his face. He'd never needed it before.

He took some deep breaths on his way to the door. "Sorry, what was that?" he asked.

"Oh, um-- nothing," she said. Good. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"I hope I didn't sour your evening too much," he said. "I certainly didn't plan to--"

"Oh, we've just been talking about all the same things we were before," Laura interrupted, her haste betraying her nerves. She started leading him toward the stairs. "Dresses and flowers and things. Your aunts are a riot!"

Hubert frowned. "They what?" he asked. That was possibly the last way he would ever describe them.

"You didn't tell me how  _ fun _ they are," Laura confirmed, which was… bizarre. "They're both coming shopping with my auntie and me on Thursday, and Liliana and Sandy are going riding with your uncles if they don't want to come, and we're all going out to lunch on the river if you want to come for that..."

Hubert would rather be kidnapped and held for ransom than spend time with his aunts, but they were downstairs now, within hearing range of everyone, so he just said, "I'm afraid my Thursday lunchtimes are booked."

"Oh, right, your teatime," Laura said. "Invite Ferdinand; I'm sure he'd love to meet everyone." Without waiting for a response, she walked into the doorway of the parlor and said, "Hubert's feeling much better."

Everyone took that as their cue to stand up and start wandering in the direction of the dining room. Uncle Morris even clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Glad to have you back with us, Bertie," though the nickname negated his good intentions completely.

Laura hadn’t misspoken and Hubert hadn’t misunderstood. Instead, it turned out that Laura had a superhuman power Hubert had never even considered: she got along with Hubert’s aunts.

He hadn’t known it was possible. Neither his appeals for their mercy nor his stern assertions that he knew best about his own life had managed to sway either of them one iota in their strong opinions about what was best for him. And yet here, in person, in real time, Laura had them smiling and laughing and  _ actually getting along with her. _ It was unprecedented. Hubert had no idea how she did it, but he did his best to play along.

It was astonishing, honestly. Hubert at his most placating was no match for Laura acting cheerful and boisterous. She didn't seem to be feigning interest; she was laughing and smiling and shooting falsely intense glances at Hubert like she did when her own aunt and uncle were around. It was masterful. Hubert had never felt so in awe of her. And it was helpful, besides, because Hubert was more withdrawn than he'd intended to be. He still felt a little shaky, as well as being mad that a teenager had seen through him so easily.

After dinner and light after-dinner conversation, Hubert proposed they go back to the parlor, maybe have drinks. (He could really, really use a drink.) On the way, Laura pulled him aside and quietly asked if he wanted her to go home so he could make an early night of it.

"I'd be honored if you would stay," Hubert reassured her. "I didn't know my aunts liked anyone, but they adore you. And I have something for you upstairs -- I can bring it down in a moment." There were a lot of reasons they weren't a 'come up and look at my etchings' kind of couple, but even if they were, he wanted everyone to see Laura next to the dress. He wanted everyone to know that she had as much of a claim to his name and his history as the woman who had married his pathetic excuse for a father.

He padded up the stairs and retrieved the dress from his room. He carried it more carefully now, ready to show it off. When he approached the parlor, Laura was sitting next to Liliana, but when he pulled the dress out so everyone could see it, she gasped and stood. She looked between Hubert and the dress in disbelief, and Hubert tried to stay smiling and neutral.

It was as his aunts had said: pale blue with pearls. Cascades of satin, wrinkled and flat from storage, with touches of light blue-gray lace at the sleeves and the top of the skirt, and peeking out at the hem. Uncle Morris put a hand on Aunt Yanni's shoulder and she flicked tears away from the corner of her eye. "Should I… Would it be okay if I held it up?" Laura asked his aunts as she approached Hubert.

"Please do," Clara said. "It is meant to be worn by a bride."

Hubert handed her the dress and she took it off the hanger and held it up to her shoulders. The colors and textures were very flattering on her, the length entirely appropriate, and it looked like it would probably fit.

She looked at him. It would be impossible to mistake her coloring for the few pictures he'd seen of his mother, but she looked equally beautiful. "I think, if no one objects, and if you like it, you should wear it," he told her. He thought she  _ deserved _ to wear it. He knew it was deeply selfish, but he thought maybe it would symbolically allow him to fix something his father had broken. It was almost unbearably intimate to welcome Laura into his family by giving her his mother's wedding dress. He wondered what his mother would have thought of her; he had never known her as a whole, complicated person, only as an adult when he was a child, so he probably imagined her to be warmer and kinder than she really was.

"Oh, and-- and that will make our shopping on Thursday simpler," Yanni said, composing herself. "You should take it. It will look absolutely charming on you."

"Oh, yes, pretty as a picture," Clara agreed. They both looked… Not unhappy, but certainly emotional. Touched, maybe. Hopeful. Even his uncles didn't look unmoved. Liliana looked sort of uncomfortable, but that was entirely reasonable; Hubert's mother had died long before she was born. But the message to Laura was clear: if she did this, it would be with the blessing of Hubert's family, including the sisters of the woman whose dress she would be wearing. It would be viewed as a sweet and respectful homage to someone very well-loved.

For related reasons, Hubert intended to wear nothing that had ever belonged to his father.

Laura took the dress hanger and put it down with the dress on a side table. "It really makes me feel welcome," she said as she sat down, and accepted a glass of apple brandy that Uncle Sieg handed her. "It's clear how much she meant to all of you."

"Well, it's clear how much  _ you  _ mean to _ Hubert," _ Yanni countered, and fussed over her and complimented her a bit. Hubert sat next to Uncle Morris and enjoyed watching Laura charm his family some more. No one commented on how reserved Hubert was, and he didn't know if he was relieved or if he hated it.

Laura went home a little early, but by no means so early that Hubert could be called a bad host. He saw her off and retired to bed almost immediately afterward, but scanned through his bookshelves first for a few volumes on runology and dark magic that his cousin would be able to understand, so he could leave them somewhere inconspicuous before he left for work in the morning. That was how you were meant to give curious teenagers information, right? By letting them find it themselves? He was pretty sure his father had done the same for him, with some volumes on poison; there was no better way to guarantee that the information would be well received. She didn’t seem reckless enough to try any intermediate or advanced spells without asking about them first, and maybe having good reading materials would get her away from the dangerous magic that had been so tempting to her.

Then again, maybe she would think about how Hubert hadn’t hesitated to talk about child torture and blood magic, and would start to understand that anything he refused to talk about in similar detail would be even worse.

That seemed, if not unlikely, certainly not a sure enough bet to hinge her safety on. And, besides, it would be amusing to see the kind of snit Aunt Clara would get into if her daughter tried a low-level  _ Miasma  _ or a simple binding spell, successful or not.

He slipped a bookmark into a chapter on practical beginner spells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember back in Chapter 14 when Hubert wanted to ask Ferdinand, “Don't you want a simple relationship? Wouldn't you enjoy spending your time on someone who can take care of himself?” That's always good for a giggle.
> 
> Side-note while we're talking about nephews: I got to see MY sister's baby boy the other day, and he was extremely suspicious of me (but that's fine, because it meant we social distanced) and we played peek-a-boo through a bush and it was adorable. It would be impossible to love him more. Clara and Yanni probably felt a similar way about Celia's babies.


	29. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard and Ferdinand prepare for the gay marriage hearings. Lorenz comes to town and criticizes the plot of my story. Hubert keeps tabs on his guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to your bonus chapter! I didn’t miscount the number of chapters I had prepared when I said to get ready for a hiatus; I just got the Lorenz section finished up between then and now. The hiatus does start after this, though, unfortunately, unless I decide I’m very satisfied with the parts I’ve already written and want to publish them sooner than expected.
> 
> Do you ever spontaneously remember that Ferdinand and Lorenz are both jocks? Truly, one of the most viscerally horrifying facts in the game. Please know that every time they’re interacting and someone uses a two-word phrase that seems out of place, that’s the name of a rose. I literally kept a list of all the purple, orange, and gay-sounding roses just so I could write that section. I don’t know whether to say “you’re welcome” or “I’m sorry,” but it sure feels in-character. Enjoy this chapter!

Ferdinand was only rarely summoned to Edelgard's suite, but he liked to think he was professional about it despite the thrill of pride it always gave him. He smiled at the guards and nodded to the ladies on his way in. Edelgard was already sitting on the couch with her scribe, ready to receive him, and Linhardt was doing something with their back turned. "Oh, good, you're here," she said with no prelude. "Sit down. I have bad news."

"Oh, no, is someone backing out of the Midlands Deal?" Ferdie asked. It was precarious to begin with, and widely criticized as preying on the poverty of lords whose coffers had just been emptied by local famines, but it would bring valuable agricultural land under Imperial control and they  _ needed _ that. It would help show that there was no reason to fear selling your lands to the Empire, and that it could even be a good long-term plan. And, the more people had neighbors whose lands were managed by the Imperial government, hopefully, the more they would demand, if not the same arrangement, then at least similar living conditions. But the Midlands Deal relied on a coalition, and coalitions tended to break, especially when land ownership was involved…

"No, nothing like that," Edelgard said. "Bad news for us personally, not bad news for Adrestia. Because, next week, Linhardt will begin the treatment for removing my crest. And next week, I will be called upon to oversee proceedings for a legislative project I've been working on for over half a year while welcoming dignitaries from across the Empire."

Ah. So that was the request: if she was incapacitated, he would need to be ready to take over.

"This week, we test the medicines for strong effects, but next week, I will begin the full course of treatment. I may be alright. I may be capable of little more than looking pretty at dinner. There's a fairly strong chance I won't even be capable of that." Her scribe slid a folder toward him. "I had Maddie copy all my notes and draft a document showing how I intend to run things. Of course, if I do hand this session over to you, you will have full control. You'll be able to do it your own way. But I do hope knowing my plans will help you create your own plans. No need to reinvent the wheel."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ferdinand said, bowing his head. "I wish you good health through this whole ordeal."

"Thank you," she said, as graceful as she had ever been. "And… Speaking as Edelgard to Ferdinand… Thank you for your support in so many ways."

"I am not naive," Ferdinand reminded her. "I know what this means. You have handed over this one project, but there is a chance that you are handing over all future projects with it." He looked down. He reached across the low table for her hand, and held it in his two hands when she gave it to him. "Whatever happens, Edelgard, the future you dreamed of is safe with me. I have long since been dreaming of the same future. You can depend on me completely." He bowed down and brought the backs of her fingertips to his forehead, an ancient gesture of vassalage.

"I hope I don't have to hand this one over," she pointed out. "But I will, if I have to. I'd like the start date to be New Year's Day. Give it a symbolic beginning."

"Is there anything you would like to discuss in detail?" he asked.

"The dinners," Edelgard said immediately. "If something does happen, and you have to act in my place, I want you and Bernadetta to stay here, in the palace. I know you know how to run a meeting, and this has more moving parts, but it's the same. But, if I'm unable to do anything, I need you to coordinate with Hubert and Minister Hevring about how to entertain our guests. The plans are made, and solid, but it's important to follow through."

"I understand," Ferdinand told her. "I will be certain to coordinate with them. How… How have you felt recently, Edelgard?" She hid anything she thought of as weakness. He could relate.

She sighed. "Not great. My episodes have gotten closer together. But Linhardt is very hopeful about this treatment, and if it works…" Her voice broke as she said, "If it works, there is such a vast future ahead of me. So far beyond one piece of legislation. Sorry, this is-- completely inappropriate--"

"I understand," Ferdie assured her as she covered her eyes with her hand. "There is no need to feel embarrassed. I will be overjoyed for you if this works." And for another petite woman with pale hair and lavender eyes. And, surely, for even more people. Even if the most direct help was to the two women who had survived the Slitherers' blood magic, there would surely be wide-reaching implications after Linhardt published. "As you say: however momentous, this is one piece of legislation. I will be glad to watch you guide it to complete legitimacy, or I will be glad to deliver it to you to cheer you as you recover. But you must ensure that I do not enact it in your memory; I would certainly be very unhappy to do that."

"It's-- I'm not afraid, not really," Edelgard insisted. "Or, not of this treatment. But I'm hoping so hard. I want this, Ferdinand. It feels so close. I want to be healthy again. I want to send Lysithea good news. I want-- to create a world where we can say that we've fixed the things our parents broke. I'm sure you understand that."

"Viscerally," he assured her.

"Good luck with that on the Hevring front," Linhardt said, and turned around. They came around the couch. "Alright, that was about thirty minutes. Discomfort or pain?" They sat next to Edelgard and started touching her face, peering in her eyes, feeling around her jaw and neck.

"None," Edelgard said as Ferdinand lowered his eyes. "Breathing's fine, no itching, no strange symptoms…"

"Good. Oh, Ferdinand, don't look so embarrassed; it's just an allergy check. I did it for you when you had that bad cabbage and thought it was your pain medicine." They were frowning at Edelgard, probably looking at the details of her face, rather than at her. "We shouldn't have any trouble, but I'm not starting on a course of medication meant to  _ change the composition of bone marrow _ without a little due diligence."

“Oh, is that where crests come from?” Ferdinand said. Linhardt didn’t seem to ever feel embarrassment, but surely light conversation was more appropriate right now than serious discussions about how to run the Empire.

“Yep,” Linhardt said, popping the P at the end of the word. “Crests come from blood, and blood comes from marrow. They don’t even teach you that much when they’re showing you how to get the blood out of your enemies' bodies?”

“No need to be so vulgar,” Ferdinand scolded, feeling a familiar twinge of shame and regret for the lives he'd taken in the War. “No, it was just never relevant. What they  _ do  _ was relevant, though I am fairly certain even that was a very different lesson from what you learned that crests do.”

"I know, if they didn't have military applications, they would be seen as diseases," Linhardt said, and pushed Edelgard's sleeve up to take her pulse. "Your joint troubles, which will only get worse. My sleeping disease. Whatever's happening to Edelgard now. Things that  _ can _ happen to anyone, but  _ do _ happen to each and every crest holder." They yawned, then touched Edelgard's throat again. "Yeah, you seem fine. If it's the same to you, I could use a nap. Come get me if anything changes?" They stood and went back around the couch, to where their notebook, a pencil, and their medical bag were sitting. Ferdinand heard writing noises.

"You know I won't hesitate," Edelgard told them. "Thank you for running these tests today."

"And thank  _ you _ for letting me do this work," Linhardt said, carrying their packed bag. They stopped to face Edelgard after they passed her, and dipped in that appallingly unpracticed curtsey they'd started doing. Edelgard nodded to them, dismissing them, and they left.

"Where were we?" Edelgard asked, smiling pleasantly at Ferdinand as if her life was not in danger. "Oh, right, the guest list. Hubert drew up a seating chart…"

.-._.-._.-._.

Delegates came to town in ones and twos: the provincial governors and their aides and secretaries; individual nobles and influential people who wanted their own eyes on the new law. The arrival of the Governor of Liecester Province was the only nice one because it made Ferdinand almost ecstatically happy. Bernadetta loved to see him so excited, and she would be glad to see Lorenz, too.

When he called, Bernadetta was in the parlor finishing up the tea preparations and Ferdinand was upstairs doing his midday skin care routine. "Lorenz!" she heard from the hallway, and stood up as Ferdie's heavy footsteps tromped down the stairs. "In the flesh! How are you, you old raspberry royale?" She made it to the front hall and leaned in the doorway.

"I've been fine, you big ginger syllabub," Lorenz said, no less enthusiastic than Ferdinand. Ferdie approached him and they clasped arms and then slammed their chests together in a bizarre display of what Bernie had decided long ago to call sportsmanship. When that was done, they hugged like normal friends.

"I am afraid you will find me in much less sound condition," Ferdinand joked as they pulled away from each other. He looked over at Bernie, and smiled and nodded to her before returning his attention to Lorenz. "The talks are a lot of pressure; I will be very glad when the verdict is reached officially."

Bernadetta walked toward the pair. She was trying to get out of the mindset that Ferdinand's well-being was her responsibility, but she didn't know if Lorenz would be old-fashioned about it and didn't want to seem like she was running away from admitting to not helping him enough.

"Ah, Bernadetta, I swear you are more beautiful than ever," Lorenz told her, and bowed to kiss her hand. When he straightened, he put a hand on the back of Ferdinand's shoulder. "Poor Ferdie did always get into  _ such _ a state when he was nervous; what do you say we give him a bit of gentle distraction today?"

"That would be very nice," Bernie agreed. "Ferdinand, why don't we invite Lorenz into the parlor and he can tell us all about how well he's been doing pulling West Liecester into the Imperial fold?"

"Oh, I have that from letters," Ferdinand pointed out, gesturing to the parlor and beginning to lead Lorenz there. Lorenz resisted only for a second, so he could grab a tin he'd put down on the little table by the door. "Ooh, did you bring something for us?"

"You will never believe," Lorenz said, but he waited until they were seated to put the tin down on the table and open the lid.

Inside, it looked like teacakes, lumpy little mounds covered in icing sugar that had solidified into icing, except in the places where it hadn't. They meant nothing to Bernadetta, though they looked very nice.

They clearly meant something to Ferdinand. He gasped and stared, glancing between the tin and Lorenz, his mouth spreading into a broad grin. "I thought she left," he said at last.

"Yes, she did," Lorenz agreed. "Right at the start of the War. But you know, funny thing about that: I heard -- correct me if I have this wrong -- that the war is almost two years over now."

Ferdinand took one of the teacakes and bit it in half, and moaned as he chewed it in just exactly the same way he moaned in bed with her. Lorenz offered the tin to Bernadetta, who picked one up but watched her husband.

"I am glad, for peaceful reasons, that Ms. Farine was able to return to you, but I am also glad for my own, personal reasons," he admitted, holding up his teacake so there could be no confusion about what his personal reasons were. Bernadetta tried hers and it was, in fact, extremely good. It tasted nuttier than other ones she'd had. "Her specialties are unmatched even in the best kitchens in Enbarr!"

"If she balks at Liecester cooking, you can be sure she has the same low opinion of Adrestian food," Lorenz pointed out. "Bernadetta, you remember Ms. Farine. She was our head cook at Gloucester"

"I remember when she left," Bernie told him. "It was such a shock, it even featured in Ferdinand's letters. I do have to admit: I had some of the best food of my life during my honeymoon. Does she still make those buttery breakfast buns, with the egg wash?"

"She makes every kind of bun," Lorenz told her, his face joyful but his tone serious. "Her service is the greatest asset our household has ever had, even though we once owned nearly a quarter of Liecester! It is more than worth a bit of mouthing off about the low quality of Liecester chefs; you can see how even some little wedding cakes become absolutely delightful when they have her touch!"

"I am very glad things have returned to normal for you," Bernie told him. "Especially since your 'normal' was so good. Is there anything else you have left out of your letters?" The letters he sent to Hubert (and therefore, unknowingly, to her) were all business, 'the state of the states,' he joked in them. Liecester had only been a loose alliance of mostly-independent counties and fiefs and baronies to begin with, so getting the scattered and self-determined leadership to fall in line required enormous amounts of effort, but it was slowly beginning to work. There were, after all, benefits to belonging to a larger power, benefits that were even greater than the Roundtable in Derdriu had given them, and with enormous amounts of persistence and a governor who did his best to remind his scattered lords at every turn that taxation was a two-way street, the Empire had started to gain real footholds in the hearts and minds of Liecester's leadership.

But that was work. She was asking about every other aspect of Lorenz' life.

"I would be interested in any gossip from Derdriu society," Ferdinand added. "Have you had any pretty young women flinging themselves at you recently?"

"Oh, too many!" Lorenz complained, always dramatic. "And what could I possibly do to avoid them? Just not go out?" Addressing Bernie, particularly, he clarified, "It is never the young ladies, themselves, who are the problem, you see, but their parents always seem to feel that they know better than me, and  _ my _ parents are no help at all because they still feel like I sold the country out from under them!" Looking at Ferdinand, he cheerfully said, "Oh, and Mother and Father say hello, but in that icy way that means they only said it because it's proper. And, in private, Father goes on the  _ most _ tiresome tirades about how you get to stay a duke, but want to take everybody else's title away from them. I've been trying to visit less, but one  _ must _ go home for the winter holidays."

Ferdinand laughed. "He is welcome to call himself duke, if that is the sticking point for him," he pointed out. "And he is also welcome to tell me what power I have over Aegir that does not come from the Empire. I think it sounds very flashy, being a duke, which is why I kept it -- nothing keeps the more old-fashioned officials in line like pulling rank -- but in practice, I was very happy to hand over stewardship of Aegir to the Empire and just keep a few ceremonial duties. You can tell him I enjoy none of the privileges of a duke and all of the privileges of a Prime Minister, and that I am very happy this way."

"Yes, I suppose there is simply less panache in 'Father of the Governor' than there is in 'former duke,' Lorenz pointed out. "You would not  _ believe _ how exhausting he is on the topic; Mother claims a headache every time he brings it up, but it barely deters him! And now, as you can see, he has me going on about it, too! You  _ must _ tell me about your success in Almyra, or I fear I will end up boring the two of you as thoroughly as he has bored every last person in Gloucester!"

"You heard about my success," Ferdinand pointed out. "Palomir is gloriously beautiful and I will be very happy if I have a reason to go back. Khalid von Riegan is as infuriatingly tricky as ever, but it was very nice to see him in his element. He asked after you, actually; I told him you had written me three separate letters about the rose you dedicated to your mother only placing fourth at the fair last year, and he seemed to have very fond memories of you."

"I still believe two of the judges were bought," Lorenz grumbled. "Lavender with red striping, and such a full flower, only placing fourth? It is absolutely inconceivable."

"He thought it was very sweet of you to name a rose after her," Ferdinand said. "It seemed to me that he thought you were very sweet in general."

Lorenz smiled. Smirked. Something like that. "Ferdie. I won't pretend I've ever had that much sense when it comes to love, but even I know better than to throw myself at the Crown Prince of Almyra. A little schoolboy crush is nice, but it means very little when the welfare of countries is on the line."

"I would certainly never advise you to do something rash just because of a short conversation you happened to be mentioned in," Ferdinand pointed out. "But I fail to see any harm in writing him to say hi."

"Oh, you  _ are _ meddling," Lorenz accused, but he didn't seem upset. "Bernadetta, am I much mistaken, or was he never this meddlesome before?"

"He never had his bearings quite so well before," Bernie corrected. "It is much harder to meddle without all the facts at your disposal. But, if you want some encouragement, sending Prince Khalid a letter that Hubert doesn't know the content of would make him grumble about it for  _ weeks, _ and for all you were allies, I know the idea of getting on his nerves that way is probably very enticing to you."

Lorenz laughed heartily at that. "Oh, but I think his sweet little songbird would tell him exactly what was in it," he told her. "Or would you really lie to him to protect the confused feelings of a Governor and a Crown Prince?"

"I don't know what you mean," Bernie told him. "You've been saying this whole time that nothing can happen between the two of you. You obviously think the whole concept is ridiculous. Even if I said you had some affection for him at school, there would be no telling whether a sealed letter is a confession of love or a cautious how-do-you-do. But I would be as happy as Ferdinand to see more bonds form between Almyra and Adrestia. Goodwill between countries often starts as a few small gestures of friendship."

"...And your local flower carpet might be just the thing," Lorenz filled in. "Yes, I hear you. I come into town to say in front of the whole of Fódlan that I deserve to marry who I like, and you take that to mean the Crown Prince of a foreign country."

"Well, I always did love a good success story," Ferdinand teased. "Marrying up, you know."

Lorenz' shocked-and-offended face hadn't changed at all since they were teenagers. "Marrying u-- Ferdinand!  _ I will have you know _ that there is no 'up' for me to marry into! I am the governor of a third of our Empire, subordinate only to the Emperor, equivalent to any of you fusty old things in the Emperor's Cabinet!"

Ferdinand simply grinned and responded, "Half a step down from King-Consort, though, is it not?"

"You are impossible!" Lorenz declared. "Bernadetta, your husband is simply impossible; we will have to talk around him if we want to hear any sense today."

She giggled. "What should we discuss?" she asked. "The weather? I could wax poetic about how cold and dry Enbarr has been. Or the weather in the Midlands last Summer, which was abysmal. Maybe you'd like to hear about--"

"You are baiting me, too, but I will not fall for it this time," Lorenz told her. "Tell me how you have been! I must say that peacetime suits you; I believe you've put on weight since the last time I saw you. She looks remarkably healthy, does she not, Ferdinand?"

"Oh, I am being spoken to again?" Ferdie asked. "That was fast. Yes, positively glowing." He looked at her with so much affection, she had to look down. Sometimes, the amount Ferdinand cared about her was almost unbearable.

They both knew it wasn't peacetime that had done it. Bernadetta had had her last growth spurt during the War, and Ferdinand knew now that her breasts had grown because of the pregnancies, but the real thing, the thing that had caused Bernadetta to take out most of her dresses in every dimension they could handle and buy more to replace the ones that simply didn't have the fabric, had been her father's death four months ago, in Horsebow Moon. The end of the mourning period, with Mother leaving to live in her own house and the lovemaking with Ferdinand and Hubert that had shown Bernie decisively how deeply she was cared about had offered incomparable comfort, and she had gained weight and kept it on even with Ferdinand's trip to Almyra and having to organize the Ministry in Hubert's absence and all the holiday stress of going to parties. But none of that was anything she should say to Lorenz.

"It is an indescribable relief to know that Ferdinand is safe," she said instead. "When he was in Almyra, I knew he was safe and enjoying all the comforts they could offer such an important diplomatic party, but I realized we had only slept apart before when he was at war. I was very anxious at night, and I realized it was entirely out of habit. And I know there must be lots of other habits that I shed much more quickly, so I don't have to worry about them at all anymore." She used to forget, sometimes, soon after the War, that when Ferdinand was away during the day he was away in his office in the Palace instead of away on the campaign trail. Even when she reminded herself that she knew where he was and that he was safe, the feelings of unease would linger. Having a job that put her in a different place during the day had helped; it was impossible to mistake sitting in her office, working on ciphers, for any experience she'd had during the War. When that fear came to her, it was much easier to dismiss. But it turned out that nights alone were still hard.

"We are all still recovering," Lorenz told her very gently. "But life does continue forward, and I am glad that that distress was an aberration from your usual experience instead of something familiar." Turning to Ferdinand, he asked, "Have you been feeling better aside from the hearings? I have been well overall, but of course one year out of war is hardly enough to recover from five years in the thick of it."

"I am," Ferdinand confirmed. His voice was more serious than before. "I have nightmares sometimes, and startle occasionally, but nothing that is not proportional to the weight of five years on campaign. If you want to know the truth, the worst thing is this damned knee, and that gave me trouble before the War ever started."

"Oh, yes, I see your cane," Lorenz said, gesturing to it. "Very stately; I predict they'll be the height of fashion by the end of Spring. I'll have to end up getting one just to show all those high-and-mighty elites who winter in Enbarr and summer in Derdriu that we do, in fact, have fashion there. With little relief roses, do you think, the way yours is textured with those little swirls?"

"It is to help me  _ walk, _ Lorenz, not to make a statement," Ferdinand pointed out. "I doubt if I will need it at all when it gets warm." He was blushing; despite Bernie's best efforts, he always seemed to think there was some kind of shame or failure in using the cane. He said it made him feel old, and refused to specify what that meant.

"Oh, come now, use your imagination," Lorenz goaded. "Everyone likes to copy what the top of society does; if you use a cane for practical reasons now, it will be the most desired accessory in Enbarr by the end of the year. Everyone will be raving about how it simply makes an outfit look complete. Only wild young upstarts and new money will go without. If you think it will not catch on, after so many of Adrestia's finest were injured in the War, then I wonder what on Earth you will think about the clamor among Derdriu's women for white hairpieces. Our little Lysithea is considered one of the Empire's most beautiful women, when she feels well enough to go out."

"I am sorry to hear she has been unwell," Ferdinand told him. "You must have heard that Linhardt is here, working as the Royal Physician, but you may not know that they have been working to try to remove one of the Emperor's crests. I am not the first person she discusses such plans with, but I do recall Edelgard asking me about Lysithea's favorite tea about a month ago. It seemed very out of the ordinary, since she has not rendered any particular service to the Empire recently and there are more suitable things for an Emperor to send her vassal, anyway, but it could have been a precursor to inviting her here for treatment."

"She does intend to," Bernie told them. "It isn't meant to be a secret. If the Emperor's treatment works, she intends to invite Miss Ordelia here to receive the same treatment. Hubert is very nearly tearing his hair out trying to figure out where she should sleep without asking anyone who might take offense, but of course, that would rely on events that haven't happened yet."

"Very odd of him, to worry so much over Lysithea," Lorenz remarked. "I never thought there was anything between them, though I suppose I did see them train sometimes…"

"Oh, Miss Ordelia is certainly not who he worries about," Bernie told him. "But he does worry, and he can have a much greater impact on Miss Ordelia's sleeping arrangements than he can on the Emperor's medical outcomes. I think it's better for him, focusing on something inconsequential like that instead of the Emperor's health."

”Oh, dear," Lorenz tutted. "You sound very worried about him, Bernie. Does he get especially ghoulish when he's upset?"

"He is our  _ friend, _ Lorenz," Ferdie chided. "We care about him. Perhaps he has always seemed sour to you, and I will not pretend he opens up very easily, so it is entirely likely that any negative impression you have is his fault. But he is also incredibly kind and attentive, when he wants to be, and he has been a very good friend to Bernadetta."

"He was always entirely… polite… with me," Lorenz told them. "He never sought me out, like he did with you, but he never had anything nice to say, either. You know, half our comrades had bets on about him and the Emperor being an item, but he always struck me as a very sincere vassal, and I suppose House Vestra idealizes that sort of thing to begin with. Funnily enough, when I think about who he chased after at school and spent the most time with and actually talked to, when he seemed so indifferent to the rest of us, that person would have to be you."

"He spent time with plenty of people," Ferdinand said, not missing a beat. "Khalid, Lysithea, I think I even saw him and Dorothea drilling magic a few times…"

"Yes, but those were with a reason," Lorenz said. Bernadetta didn't know what she was supposed to say; they hadn't discussed this possibility. She supposed Ferdinand's deflection was proof enough that they were keeping the whole affair a secret from Lorenz. "That would be like saying you 'sought out' the people you met at the training grounds. You might chat while you were sparring, or catch a meal after, but that isn't a special trip. Not like all the times I saw your favorite Horseman of the Apocalypse lurking by the stables or the armory and claiming he was there on the Princess' business. If you want a candidate for a schoolboy crush, it was Hubert in love with you, no doubt about it."

"You think he plays for our team, then?" Ferdinand asked, calm as anything.

Lorenz scoffed. "The man is a fruitcake if I've ever seen one! Or, at the very least, he has almost no interest in women. There was certainly chemistry between him and the Emperor, so if they had desired each other at all, somebody would have won lots of money at some point. But she was too busy mooning over the Professor and Miss Arnault, and I still say Hubert was doing his damnedest to pretend he wasn't mooning over you." He smiled and looked down for just a moment, then looked at Ferdinand. "All in the past, though, I would hope. I mean, carrying a torch for a married man is the sort of thing I can imagine from a twenty-year-old, especially one who tries so hard to pretend he doesn't care about anything but one person. But at… Let's see, he would be twenty-seven, I think? ...No, his birthday is right near yours: twenty-six. At twenty-six, it would be ridiculous. I mean, it's clear the man has never had a feeling he didn't try to squash, but even he wouldn't just sit in limbo forever. Eventually, you need to go out and get on with your life."

"Have you not heard that he's engaged?" Bernie asked. "Only since Red Wolf Moon, but they plan to marry just before the new year."

Lorenz scoffed. "I'm not talking about  _ marriage. _ I could get myself engaged tomorrow, if I wanted, to any pliable young lady whose parents think marrying the Governor of Liecester sounds like a great idea. And, once upon a time, I was prepared to do just that, put the good of Gloucester and even all of Liecester ahead of my own personal feelings. But then I fought in a war for five years, and I'm afraid, in that time, my standards for what I will tolerate have been raised. I did not spend five years fighting for a better, freer world only to tamp my feelings down and allow myself to be miserable while everyone else enjoys their new freedoms, and I intend to say so in a very public setting in a few days. ...And then, I think, I will not have to visit my parents again for quite some time."

"We expect similar estrangement from Bernadetta's family," Ferdinand said, after pausing to digest what Lorenz had said. "I find myself in the very strange position of being glad I have no family to estrange. I do not think it is better."

"No, I would think not," Lorenz agreed. "Did your father ever… know… about you?"

"Before the War, I did not know about me," Ferdinand pointed out. "After it started, he saw me as a traitor, just as I had seen him for the past nine years. I never even had to make a decision about telling him."

"It was probably for the best," Lorenz said sympathetically. "I cannot imagine him taking it well. With mine, it is… I find it difficult to imagine how they could  _ not _ know, but I still worry the news will surprise them. And then I think: it is very different, actually, for something to be an open secret or for it to be declared. And it makes me wonder if what I am is  _ acceptable _ to them only if I never say it aloud." He sighed. "I don't know. Don't listen to me. It is only my mother's disposition rubbing off on me."

“You will still feel better for having said it,” Ferdinand declared. “And many of us will be proud of you. You will have the support of most of the influential people in the Empire. You will not be alone in this."

"I found it was a relief to be uninvited from my parents' house," Bernadetta said. It wasn't really the topic at hand, and she didn't know if it would help, but… "Even when thinking about it made me feel a little sick, it was… Not worrying about what to say or how to act or how to reconcile what I'd done with my parents' expectations was a relief. And that was when the alternative was to spend the holidays with Ferdinand's father. It hurts, knowing they won't even try to reach an understanding with you. It hurts a lot. But, if they won't even see you, then you don't have to apologize, either. And I, at least, would be happy for you not to have to apologize for how you are."

Lorenz sighed. "Thank you. I still hope they'll at least try." More softly, he added, "I want to be worth the attempt."

"I think, even though you don't like him much, some advice Hubert gave me could help you," Bernie told him, because, Goddess, she'd been in those shoes before. "After my father died, he told me that my love for him reflected well on me, and not at all on my father. It was true for me then, and I think it's true for you now: it is very good and loyal and loving of you to want to stay on good terms with your parents, and to love them even when they look down on you and your work. But those are  _ your _ good qualities, not necessarily something they've earned, and you will keep them regardless of whether your parents decide to act in a way that deserves your good intentions. What they choose to do has nothing to do with whether you are worthwhile, because you already are. The only question is whether they will come to their senses and recognize that."

Lorenz smiled, but it was a wavering, unsteady thing. "That is very kind of you to say," he told her. "I see you have become much more assertive, too, since the last time we spoke, and I have to say, I like your ideas. I will have to think about it; that is the complete opposite of how I usually think about these things."

"You are the governor of a third of the Empire," Bernie parroted back to him. "You are a war hero. The only thing about you that a parent could fail to be proud of is that you have not married yet, and I predict you will have a lot of options this coming Season. But look at who else is not married: the Marquis of Vestra, the Governor of Faerghus, even the Emperor, Herself! You are in very distinguished company. And I would hope some leeway could be granted, anyway, for a man who was a decorated general by the time he turned twenty. If your parents turn their backs on you, it will only be because they are choosing to ignore all your accomplishments and good qualities in favor of one thing they have  _ chosen  _ to be prejudiced against. A child has many obligations to their parents, but teaching them to love you as you are is not one of them.”

Lorenz looked at her for a moment, then said, “You know, Ferdinand has talked for years about how amazing you are. Insisted that he had the best marriage anyone could ask for, regardless of who was listening. I never understood, before; you seemed like a shrinking little thing, pleasant and clever but so fearful and retiring, I was sure he was exaggerating for the sake of your honor. But, if I can marry someone who speaks half as eloquently in my defense when I feel doubtful, I think I will have a very happy marriage. Thank you for your confidence in me."

"I didn't say anything untrue," Bernie told him, looking down. Maybe it was just the strange, combative mood she was in from protecting Sandy, but Bernadetta had  _ had _ to defend her friend's honor. She couldn't let him think he was only what his parents made him out to be. "You've always been a good friend to me. To both of us. You're a very good man."

Lorenz smiled at her gratefully. Then he turned to Ferdinand and said, "But I think we should celebrate the powerful statements in favor that will surely come out at the talks. How many are you certain of?"

Ferdinand sighed. Without the Governors, it would have been impossible, and it was difficult thing even with them. "From the ministers, I am certain of myself and Hubert. Count Bergliez has said he will give no opinion, and I believe Ministers Gerth, Hevring, and Varley will all vote against. However, at the same tier are you and Governor Molinari, who will both vote for, and Governor Brionac, who has been very tied up with supply distribution in the Midlands and has not indicated her stance whatsoever. But, because Minister Bergliez will abstain, we have the leeway for that one vote to go either way without anyone accusing the Emperor of going against her Cabinet. It is a very tight thing, but I do expect it to pass. All of our 'for' votes are very solid, while the people voting ‘against’ will still have to submit their research to Edelgard. Minister Varley, for example, will be forced to submit papers showing religious and cultural precedent for marriage and long-term commitment between people of the same gender before she gives her speech claiming that such things are wrong. It is a distinct disadvantage."

"It is not the voting that worries you," Lorenz pointed out. He always was sensitive to Ferdie's moods.

"No." Ferdinand sipped his tea. "No, the voting does not trouble me at all. I do not expect any of us to change our minds. It seems to be quite the divisive issue, unfortunately. I am worried about how the people will take it. What details of the speeches will be reported on? Will public opinion line up with the path we have determined to take? I think it will turn out alright, but I am sorry to say I am still filled with uncertainty. I can determine the wills of eleven people; I am not so certain I can figure out the opinions of thousands."

“I suppose, if I were to admit to missing anything from the old order, that would probably be it,” Lorenz told them. “Before the War, such a decision might come with a bit of grumbling, but nothing to  _ really  _ worry about. It certainly isn’t the sort of thing people rebel over. Now, though. Now, we are the representatives of the people. We say we are representing their interests. If we are not, we tell them, then they have every reason to demand we be replaced. It is quite a lot more pressure.”

Ferdie looked down for a moment, then up at his friend. “I suppose the important thing to remember is that, as much as it will matter to those who oppose it, it will matter even more to those who need it. And our job is not to make life more convenient for those who already hold power, but to uplift everyone.”

“Oh, very good,” Lorenz goaded. “Can I look forward to that sort of rhetoric during your speech?”

Ferdie laughed. “That, and more, my friend. But I do not wish to bore my favorite big purple with things he will hear in a few days’ time; I have just remembered you wrote me that your poetry had been coming along well. You will have to share some with us; I insist!”

.-._.-._.-._

Hubert’s houseguests had been staying with him for a little over a week when he lingered in his office just long enough for Miss Hreva to bring him coffee and then asked her to close the door.

“What do you need, m’lord?” she asked, demure and calm and probably sensing the extra pay she was about to earn.

“Do my aunts speak in front of you as if you weren’t there?” he asked, turning to a fresh page in his notebook in case he needed to take notes.

“They do.” She pulled one of the chairs in the reading nook by the fire over so she could sit down while they talked. Hubert’s aunts berated him almost daily for how lazy his maid was, but apparently hadn’t caught on that keeping his house clean and assisting the family weren’t her only duties. “They talk about you, often. Your uncles do, too, a bit, but of course, they aren’t as close, not being related, and they tend to talk about their interests or the City more often.”

“That’s as expected,” Hubert assured her. “I’m much more interested in what my aunts say about me, and also anything they say about Miss Navarre, if they mention her.”

“When they mention Miss Navarre, it’s always favorable. They say she’s sweet, and lively, and a good match for you, and very healthy. All the same compliments they give to her face.” That was good. Not unexpected, but good.

“Excellent. And what do they say about me?” This was going to be awful. He set a neutral expression on his face and tried not to stray from it.

Miss Hreva smiled nervously. “Well… When they talk about you, they often mention someone who I’m really not supposed to talk about in front of y--”

“That is inevitable,” Hubert said. Of course they compared him to his father. He looked the same, he did the same work, and he probably came off as just as nasty and unlikeable, talking about torture to his youngest cousin and keeping a perplexingly small household staff and, surely, being whispered about in all corners of Adrestia whenever something inexplicably bad happened. “You are at full liberty to mention him whenever it’s in the service of giving accurate information.”

Miss Hreva nodded. She still looked a little nervous, but he knew she’d been fired for being “too forward” before, so she probably feared retribution. In fact, Hubert had hired her for her forwardness and trusted her to keep him informed about what went on in his household, since there were near-infinite things people would say to a chambermaid that they would never dare say to a marquis, and she did an excellent job.

“Well, when they’re alone, they say that… That you’re handsome like him,” she said, and paused, just slightly, watching him to see if she was upsetting him. Even if she did upset him, he wasn’t about to fire someone for telling him the truth. It was, unfortunately, completely true that Hubert had inherited his father’s looks. If the general impression was that he looked striking, rather than gaunt, that was fortunate.

“And they both say that they wish they’d come here years ago to help the late Marquis with his grief, or had you over in the summers when you were a child, because they say the late Marquis… um… That he raised you to be fearful and small, and he clearly didn’t show you enough affection when you were young. So it’s no wonder it took you so long to get engaged, since you don’t know how to accept kindness when it’s offered, and they should have helped you more instead of just writing you. And that they see the late Marquesa in your affect, even though they don’t see her in your features.” She nodded, looking nervous and polite.

For once in his life, Hubert wanted to be unreasonable. Wanted to dismiss her from his service and never see her again for saying such cutting, disturbingly accurate things about him, even though they weren’t her words. But he knew objectively that a person who was willing to tell you a truth you didn’t want to hear was worth infinitely more than a person who would take the easy way out and tell you a comforting lie, even if that was more difficult to believe right now than it had ever been. Instead, he said, “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty and hard work, and you’ll see my appreciation reflected in your next payday. Is there anything else I should know about?”

He saw her shoulders droop as she let the tension out of them. “No, m’lord,” she said. “Nothing else yet. Oh, and we’ve looked into the servants who came with your houseguests and they all check out. Nobody showing up in strange places, or asking leading questions, or anything like that.”

That, at least, was good news. “Then I’ll let you return to your work,” he told her. “Oh, and if my guests give you any grief about your work habits, you know you can refer them to me, right?” He hoped that was why his aunts mentioned her “laziness” to him, but wasn’t certain.

She was already putting her chair back in its spot. “I do, m’lord. Don’t worry about me; as long as I know you have my back, it’s fine. They don’t pay me, and frankly, they don’t tip well, either.”

Hubert nodded. “I think that’s about as far as our understanding about you keeping me informed about my household goes,” he warned her. He would find a way to bring up the topic of tipping staff who were going beyond their usual duties for you, but he didn’t appreciate being told that his houseguests were inadequate in some way after Miss Hreva had gotten so much good information out of them. He wondered if they even realized he had ears in his own house.

“As you say, m’lord,” Miss Hreva agreed, and dipped in a curtsey. “Oh, and Mrs. Tibball says she knows you have a stressful week coming, so be sure to have the sesame candy she sent up. And don’t leave the house without breakfast, because she knows you forget sometimes when you’re thinking about other things.”

Hubert had the pushiest servants in Enbarr, apparently.

“Tell her I understand and I already have plenty of people fretting over me, and I’m not currently in the market for another," he said, "no matter how much I remind her of her son in Edmund."

"As you say, m'lord," Miss Hreva said, and dipped in a curtsy and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading up to this point! I don’t know how long the hiatus will last because moving and ADHD are not friends! But I still feel excited about my story, even now that it’s a year after I started writing it, so I’m very inspired to finish it! I want to give everyone their happily-ever-after on terms they've chosen for themselves! (And there’s a special surprise pairing between some side characters that’ll be revealed in a couple chapters because I only decided to add it in, like, November!)


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